The Epic Game
by emoprincess37
Summary: Sequel to 'Four Seven Four'. It's been a month since Sherlock took down the serial killer; and now an even more dangerous killer has made himself known. Can Sherlock stop him, and keep his friends safe? Or is he doomed to fail? If he fails people will die. If he succeeds, he just might lose the woman closest to him.
1. Chapter 1 21-5-10

Chapter 1 _21-5-10_

John looked up as Emmaline entered the main room; she had been resting in Sherlock's bedroom. Her bandage was gone – as it well should have been a month after the incident – but she still had a faint red scar on her forehead.

"Where's Sherlock?" She asked John, rubbing her eyes.

"I imagine he's gone to ask Lestrade if there are any '7' cases; or really if there's anything for him to do." John went back to reading his paper but then looked up again. "Do you know how his rating scale works, anyway?"

"No one knows how Sherlock works." She trudged into the kitchen and poured a cup of coffee.

John still remembered when they had all come home that night and the day following:

_Sherlock walked out to the living room; he had just put Emmaline to bed after John had told him it was OK for her to go to sleep now. He huffed and sat on the couch with a flourish. _

"_She can only stay a few days John, and then she has to go home."_

"_Sherlock, you're not going to make her go home like this. Are you?" _

"_It's dangerous for her to be here John."_

"_Sherlock, we're not sending her home. She needs to be taken care of; she's just had a seriously traumatic experience and a head wound: she's staying."_

_ Sherlock sipped on a mug of hot tea. _

"_Yes I suppose." He looked over at John. "If you weren't here I would've sent her home to care for herself. I've done that before…" Sherlock trailed off. _

"_It's OK; no one is blaming you. You thought you were doing the right thing."_

"_What must she have thought of me though John?" Sherlock stared sadly into his mug, as though it held all the answers. _

"_I'm sure she thought you were just being you." John knew that Emma had actually been scared to not have him there; he also knew that she had felt abandoned for months. It had been an awful thing for Sherlock to do: not calling, visiting, or answering her texts, especially after initiating a romantic relationship. _

_ However John didn't want to make his feel friend bad so he kept his mouth shut about it. _

"_You can make it up to her this time though Sherlock; be there to take care of her."_

_ Sherlock sighed; there were apparently still a great many things he had to learn about the human condition. _

_23-4-10_

_ The first day Emma had woken up and felt well enough to do much of anything John had sat her down to talk to her. He was intensely curious, naturally, and had questions for her. First and foremost, he wanted to know what had happened after she had left. _

"_I got in my car, started it, and pulled out onto the street; then there was the barrel of a gun pressed into the back of my head. He told me to drive to my flat. About halfway there we crossed over a bridge and I tried to swerve and drive off it but he knocked me in the head with the gun; when I woke up I was tied to a chair in my flat."_

"_What happened after that?"_

"_He wanted me to call Sherlock, to let him know I was gone. He wanted to lure Sherlock there much sooner but I wouldn't call him; he threatened me but I didn't relent. Finally he gave up and sliced my forehead open; he said 'a note written in blood would intrigue him more anyway'."_

"_What about the bruise on your cheek?" _

_ Emma touched it and winced; it still hurt._

"_I don't know; he must have done it while I was unconscious." _

"_Emma, how did you get out of the chair? I saw those bonds, they were tight."_

_ Here Emma sighed and took a sip of her orange juice; neither Sherlock nor John would let her drink coffee. _

"_I met Mycroft four years ago; I made an appointment with his office and introduced myself, telling him who I was. He was surprised, of course, but happy to learn his little brother was settled. I told him 'not exactly settled', and explained our situation. He asked me why I had wanted to see him."_

"'_To be honest, I have a favor to ask of you'. I wanted him to put me in the military, for training, but not to serve. I wanted to be militarily trained and he was the only person I thought I could go to with my request."_

"_Why did you want to be combat trained? That's a heavy request."_

_ Emma turned her head to look at Sherlock, who was in the kitchen getting breakfast._

"_To protect him." Emma took another sip of orange juice. "I had an escape plan worked out, just in case. Thankfully you and Sherlock came; I was woozier than I had thought."_

_ John put his hand on Emma's knee. _

"_He'll always come for you."_

_ She had given him a shy smile before Sherlock had sat down with them, changing the point of conversation. _

The ringing of Sherlock's phone broke John from his reverie. John looked up; he hadn't even noticed Sherlock had arrived home from his meeting with Lestrade. He looked around for Emma and saw her in the bedroom, packing. Sherlock had declared this the day she moved back into her own flat.

John folded his paper and put it down on the coffee table.

"Do you want any help?" He asked Emma from the door of the bedroom.

"That would be lovely, thanks."

John took her case and she the other, and they walked downstairs. He thought she was worried about moving back into her flat, because she didn't feel safe. However, when he had asked her about it, she had simply said that she 'would miss seeing the two of you every day.'

He and Sherlock had already been by her flat a few times last month; once the police had cleared the scene the two had returned to clean the flat. There had been glass and blood everywhere; not fit for Emma to return to.

John closed the trunk of her car and held his hand out for a shake. She smiled and shook her head.

"Really John?" She held her arms out for a hug.

He gladly obeyed; he would miss her once she was no longer living at 221B Baker Street, but he would make it a habit of visiting her as often as he could manage. He had grown accustomed to her cooking and her cleaning habits.

"Wait, wait!" Sherlock came running down the stairs, out of breath.

"Have you come to properly say goodbye?" John asked, stepping aside.

"Goodbye? No, I was going to say get in the car. Lestrade has just called from Scotland Yard about a mysterious death." Sherlock's eyes lit up and his mood was infectious.

They piled into the car and Emma pulled out onto the street.

"What does this mean for my moving out?" She deftly asked.

"Oh, well, that will wait obviously. I can't have you moving out in the middle of a case."

Emma smiled and pressed her foot against the gas just a litter harder; she too was excited to see what Lestrade had called about. _Maybe they're more perfect for each other than I thought, _John mused quietly to himself.

They finally arrived at Scotland Yard; Emma parked the car and they all walked into the giant building, instantly being ushered into Lestrade's office.

"Now the body I'm going to show you is of a man who died three days ago; Jonathan Morgan. He was thirty-six, in peak physical condition. His landlady discovered the body the afternoon after he died to collect rent."

Lestrade picked a file off his desk and tucked it under his arm. He led Sherlock, John, and Emma down the hall to the morgue. Molly was there as an attendant to oversee their viewing of the body.

"Here Sherlock," she scampered up to the body bag and unzipped it for him.

"Why have I been called in?" Sherlock asked, examining the body. There seemed to be nothing amiss about it to him.

"Poison."

"Ahh," Sherlock's eyes suddenly gleamed.

He noticed Molly standing near him still, looking down at him expectantly. He sighed and shot a look at Emmaline, from the corner of his eye. She didn't seem concerned about Molly's proximity and he was glad; a fight was the last thing he needed.

"We weren't sure how he had died so we ran everything through the system on his autopsy; found trace amounts of poison in his system: a potassium chloride mixture, not unlike those used for death sentences."

Sherlock leaned back and signaled to Molly that he was done; she zipped the bag up and stood back, suddenly wary of the other female in the room. Molly noticed the easy manner with which she and John spoke and happily assumed they were together. However, John knew that Sherlock would just let the matter sit in the air so he took it upon himself to break the news to Molly. He excused himself from Emma and went to talk to Molly.

"Sherlock?" Emmaline walked up to her husband and threaded her fingers in his.

"Hmm?" He was staring absently into space.

"Greg?" She turned her attention to the detective inspector.

"Yes?"

"Has the flat been touched since Mr. Morgan's death?"

"No, it hasn't."

Sherlock heard this detail and perked up.

"We must go there immediately to find out how he was poisoned."

Sherlock strode out of the room, dragging Emmaline with him.

"Come on John!" He yelled before leaving the morgue.

"Sorry, Molly, I have to go." John hurried after Sherlock, Emma, and Lestrade.

"What do you mean he's married?" Molly asked the empty room, her eyes starting to water.

Emma, Sherlock, and John followed Lestrade's car to Jonathon Morgan's flat. They all rode the elevator up together to the sixth floor. It was a posh building and Greg told them Morgan had worked at a bank.

The group immediately put on gloves; however they all hung back watched Sherlock walk around the flat. He disappeared into the bathroom and examined the shower, deducing that Morgan had taken a shower the morning he was killed.

He walked back out into the main room and shared this piece of information before walking over to the window. Everything in the apartment was well-kept and clean. Except…Sherlock noticed a small tear in one of the curtains. If that had been noticed by Mr. Morgan he would have replaced them. Sherlock peeked outside and saw that Morgan's window had a fire-escape down to street level.

Sherlock walked into the kitchen, John following him now. The only thing out was a glass of scotch.

"Lestrade, send the scotch to the lab; you'll find the poison."

The DI didn't even bother to ask how Sherlock knew it was there; he just called the lab to have them send someone over.

"What kind of a man drinks a scotch in the morning?" John asked, staring at the glass with disdain.

"He had a scotch every morning with his breakfast." Sherlock looked up at the scotch bottle; to him, it was clearly the most frequently used bottle. "The kind of man who thinks he's powerful," he answered John's question, tearing off the latex gloves.

Sherlock took pictures of the glass of scotch and the window curtain, and fire-escape outside.

"Fax me copies of the reports and crime-scene photos." Sherlock spoke, striding past Lestrade and out the door.

"Thank you for showing us the flat!" John yelled, running out after him.

"Thanks, Greg." Emma put her hand on his shoulder before walking out after the two men.

The three of them drove back to 221B Baker Street and walked upstairs. Waiting in Sherlock's fax machine were the requested papers. He busied himself reading them, effectively shutting out Emmaline and John.

The doorbell downstairs rang but the group made nothing of it; they heard Mrs. Hudson downstairs exclaim and then footsteps coming upstairs.

"Sherlock, John, Emmaline!" Mycroft exclaimed, letting himself in.

Mycroft walked in carrying his usual cane, and a box all wrapped up in shiny silver paper.

"Mycroft," Sherlock sneered at his brother, never taking his eyes off the board.

"Mycroft!" Emma's reception was much warmer; she wrapped her arms around the elder Holmes brother and kissed his cheek.

He reciprocated the warmth and handed her the package.

"I'm afraid I won't be in town next week for your birthday, so here's your present a little early."

"Oh Mycroft you didn't have to!"

Emmaline hugged him again before setting the package down on Sherlock's desk.

"Well you are so kind to send my Christmas and birthday presents from Sherlock, I thought I'd return the kindness."

"You knew?" Emmaline sounded disappointed.

"The handwriting wasn't quite right."

John looked at Sherlock to gauge his reaction; he didn't appear surprised.

"Sherlock, you OK?" He whispered to his friend.

"Hmm? Oh yes; I assumed Mycroft knew about her from the beginning, his damn spies and all."

Sherlock turned back to his board. Mycroft stayed for only a few more minutes to chat with Emmaline before heading for the door. When he got into the hallway Emmaline told him to wait; John saw something small exchange hands before Mycroft tipped his head, smiled, and walked down the stairs.

John was going to question her when she walked in the room. Before he could get a word out she divided up a wad of cash and tossed half of it to Sherlock. He caught it and put it in his jacket pocket.

"You spy on your husband, for his brother?"

"I have a little notebook that I keep notes in." Emmaline smiled at John's surprise.

"We split the fee John; pity you didn't take him up on his offer." Sherlock mused, turning away from the board. "Are you going to open your present?"

"No, I think I'll wait until my birthday."

Emma picked up the package and put it away at the top of the hall closet.

"Out of sight, out of mind. Now I won't try and open it early."

Sherlock smiled at John's still surprised expression. He patted his friend's shoulder before walking into his bedroom. Emma looked down at her watch and made a noise.

"I've got an appointment. Bye John, Sherlock."

She raced out the door with her coat and bag in hand.

"Bye Emma!" John called after her. She waved to him before the door closed.

John gathered himself up and took a deep breath before knocking on Sherlock's door.

"Come in."

Sherlock was standing at his closet, trying to re-arrange it by color.

"Oh hello John." Sherlock said over his shoulder.

"Hey Sherlock," John tried to keep his tone casual. By the way Sherlock sighed John knew he had failed.

"What do you want now?"

"I umm…guess I just wanted to ask why you've been so…distant this month. I mean you're usually distant, but this is just strange."

"She's been hurt again John; three scars because of me now. I won't make it four."

"But she loves you."

John was confused by Sherlock's wanting to stay away; he had seen the way Sherlock looked at Emma, and he knew they were in love with each other.

"That's exactly why I'm keeping my distance." Sherlock turned back to his closet; John took this as a sign that the conversation was over.

John shook his head but backed out of the room and shut the door. "I'm going out with Sarah, OK Sherlock?"

He heard a muffled reply through the door.

"I'll be back later tonight alright?"

John grabbed his coat and keys, leaving the flat, and leaving Sherlock alone once again.


	2. Chapter 2 23-5-10

_A/N: Sorry it's been so long cranking this out: I'm still working on the outline for this book as well and I was trying to finish that first. Oh well. Here is chapter 2, please enjoy!_

Chapter 2 _23-5-10_

"Hey, go grab some apples." Emmaline pulled a plastic bag from the receptacle and handed it to Sherlock; they were at the grocery doing some shopping while John was at lunch with Sarah.

Sherlock huffed but took the bag and did as he was told. Emmaline had insisted he come and do the shopping with her because she didn't want to leave him home alone again. She absolutely hated when he was by himself.

She rolled her eyes and grabbed a few oranges; John had wanted some to munch on as a snack.

"Honestly, why am I here?" Sherlock deposited the bag of apples into the cart.

"Because, I don't like you being on your own so much; you get bored and shoot things."

"Only when I have a gun."

"Which is all the time now!"

"It's not my fault if John doesn't put his gun up very carefully."

Emmaline rolled her eyes and pushed the cart up a new aisle, Sherlock walking beside her.

"Besides, isn't it nice, getting out and doing normal people things?"

"No, not really. Honestly this is why I send John to do the shopping." Sherlock reached up a shelf to grab some boxes of cereal.

"Oh come on, this is fun."

"If you insist."

Emmaline reached over and grabbed a box of stove-top rice.

"Emmaline, I've been meaning to ask you, what's with that bandage on your finger? It's been there since yesterday."

"Oh, that's nothing." A trace of color touched her cheeks so Sherlock knew she was lying; however he didn't press it.

"Did you notice something off about John yesterday?" Emmaline inquired.

"Like what?"

"He looked…happy; very happy yesterday."

"Oh well he had come home from Sarah's."

"Do you think…?" Emmaline wiggled her eyebrows.

"Oh definitely." Sherlock put a package of chicken broth in the cart.

"Really? Oh good for him."

Sherlock threw an arm around her and kissed the side of her head.

"Are you really that involved in John's personal life that it matters?"

"Well if he, you know, then I'm sure he'll be less angry about those fingers you've got in the sink."

"Oh that's true; perhaps we should see if Sarah wants to keep him overnight. I've been planning an experiment with another severed head."

"Oh Sherlock, be happy for him. He's been moping about the flat for a month; honestly I couldn't take much more of it."

Sherlock laughed; it was a wonderful sound that made Emmaline smile even wider.

"I like it when you can do that."

"What?" He looked down at her, searching her gaze.

"Just let go; I like it when you don't have to be an emotionless detective all the time."

"I know you prefer…this," he gestured at himself, "when I'm not on the case, but I love my work Emmaline."

"Who said I preferred you not on the case? I love to see you happy and doing what you enjoy. However I also love when I can have you all to myself."

They had reached the check-out and were piling items up onto the belt for the cashier to ring up.

"I hated you for leaving." Her words came out of nowhere, once the groceries were all on the belt. She looked up at Sherlock, to see how he would react. "I really did."

Sherlock laughed and put a hand over his face.

"John is such a liar."

Emmaline was taken aback by the turn in conversation.

"What?"

"I know you two talk; I asked him how you felt after I left that first time and he said you were fine. Old fool didn't want me to feel bad."

"Why would you ask him?"

"Because I didn't want to bring it up with you!" Sherlock held his hands out and started laughing again.

Emmaline chuckled and grabbed his hands, wrapping them in hers.

"Sherlock, I was really scared; I thought something had happened to you when you wouldn't call me back."

"I didn't want to put you in danger." His voice had grown soft, gentle.

"Sherlock, that's for me to decide. I've lived your way for the past six years and look where it's gotten us."

"You've been safe."

"But we've been apart; and I hate it."

"Umm, is someone paying for these?" The cashier cut in.

Emmaline sighed but handed the clerk her debit card. She took her card back and they carried the bags outside to the car. Sherlock shut the trunk and turned to Emmaline.

"You're right…I hate being apart too."

"Really Sherlock?"

"Do you really think I don't?"

"It's hard to tell with you. Sometimes you visit once a month, then three times in one week."

"Well I have missed you. This past month has been wonderful. I…I don't want you to move out."

"Oh Sherlock!"

Emmaline threw her arms around his neck and reached up on tiptoes to cover his mouth with hers. They were interrupted a short moment later by the ringing of Sherlock's phone.

"It's just a text." Sherlock whispered against her mouth, leaning in for more.

"Answer it; you know it's driving you crazy."

Sherlock sighed but pulled back, retrieving his phone from his jacket.

Sherlock, I'm spending the night at Sarah's. DO NOT disturb me – JW.

"It's from John; he's staying with Sarah tonight."

"Do you want to pick up your severed head?"

"Oh yes."

?

Emmaline and Sherlock had just finished putting away the groceries and finding a place for the severed head on the bottom shelf of the fridge.

"Well that was a chore." Emmaline sank into the couch with a sigh.

"Only because you bought so much." Sherlock sat down next to her, putting an arm around her shoulders.

"I like cooking for you guys. And John sure does eat a lot; honestly Sherlock, how long did you forget to feed him for?"

"I feed him: I take him out to dinner down the street."

"Car-jack guy?"

"He is so annoying." Sherlock rolled his eyes towards the ceiling.

"Hey, he lets you eat for free."

"That's true." Emmaline snuggled closer into Sherlock, her feet up on the couch.

"So, the bandage?" Sherlock peered down at her.

She sighed, but sat back to remove the bandage from around her right index finger. Sherlock's eyes zeroed in on the unwrapped finger and the tattoo now there. It was a tattoo of a red string tied around her finger in a bow.

"Do you know what it means?" She asked, searching his gaze.

"I have a feeling you'll want to tell me."

"It's the red string of fate. It ties two people together, in some way, and reminds us that we're always connected to them. Do you know who's on the other side of my string?"

"I can guess."

With a simple move he had grabbed Emmaline and puller her into his lap.

"Sherlock…"

Within a second their mouths were on each other, hungry, needful. It had been a month since their most intimate contact. Since then Sherlock hadn't gone near her; she was too fragile, delicate. And with John around all the time, they were never alone.

Emmaline had just touched her tongue to his lips when Sherlock's phone rang. She groaned and rolled off him.

"Could you get that?" Sherlock asked; his breathing already was under control.

"Get it yourself." Emmaline stood up from the couch and fixed her sweater.

Sherlock smiled and walked over to his discarded coat; it was a text from Lestrade.

"It's an address; you know what an address means." Sherlock's eyes lit up.

"Can we get chips on the way, I'm starving." Emmaline checked the battery life on her phone before pocketing it.

"You want to get chips on the way to a crime scene?" Sherlock put on his coat and threw up the collar.

"Mmm, Mr. Sexy Cheekbones."

Emmaline laughed and patted his shoulder as she walked past him, out of the flat. Sherlock fought a smile, following her. Of course he turned his collar up to look mysterious.

"Fine, we can get chips. Just finish them before we get there; we don't want to be rude."

"Says the man who giggles at crime scenes."

Sherlock took two long strides to catch up to her and took her hand.

"I am a professional."

"Sometimes."

She turned her head up to look at him and they both laughed, walking up to a food cart.

?

Emmaline finished wiping the grease off on her flimsy napkin and threw it away. Sherlock was a few steps ahead of her and already at the crime scene tape. She hurried to catch up with him and heard Lestrade greeting him.

"Right through here," Lestrade led them into a small apartment building that held a few different flats.

The one Lestrade led them to was small and disheveled. It was worse than Sherlock's flat before Emmaline had moved in. It was also dirty and there were,

"Drug needles?" Emmaline examined a small needle lying in a dish on the floor.

"Victim was a junkie. Name is Jennifer Conrad, age 24."

Sherlock crouched next to the body of the woman. She was clean, but her hair was unkempt. Her body looked relatively untouched except for all the bruises, suggesting she was a junkie. Lestrade's droning voice continued in the background.

"She's been dead for at least twelve hours."

Sherlock examined the body, taking in every inch of it, looking. Finally, he found what he was looking for. A fresh bruise in the crease of her left elbow, accompanied by a new puncture wound, and a small smear of blood.

"He admitted the poison directly this time." Sherlock droned.

"OK, thanks genius." Anderson, the coroner, rolled his eyes. He absolutely hated Sherlock, and disliked Lestrade for constantly calling Sherlock in to help.

"Anderson, shut up!" Sherlock stood up and peeled off his gloves. He disliked the sniveling coroner and hated when Anderson was called into the same crime scenes. However he continued with his interrupted deduction. "He's afraid to attack a powerful man, but not a woman. He's slight: teenage male, slight adult male, could even be a female though that's less likely."

Sherlock took a step around the room.

"There's no sign of forced entry at the door, meaning that she either knew him, or he offered the poison as a drug. Second option's more likely with her being a junkie, and the killer avoiding his victims."

"This victim is also different from the first one." Emmaline interjected, standing up from beside the body. Lestrade raised his eyebrow as if to say 'alright, and', but Sherlock just gestured for her to continue. "That means the killer might not have a specific type, and anyone is a potential target."

Emmaline pulled her gloves off and threw them away. Sherlock took her hand and they were just about to leave when Lestrade turned around calling Emma.

"Before I forget, Sally isn't pressing charges, but I don't want to see it happen again you got that?"

Sherlock was fighting to suppress a giggle and Emmaline was biting her lip so she didn't smile. After a minute she spoke up.

"Yes, thank you sir."

?

"How's your chicken?" John asked Sarah, scooting around the vegetables on his own plate.

"Oh it's really good. I'm so glad we came here." Sarah gave him a smile and John completely forgot about the money counting he had been doing in his head.

"Sarah, I was wondering if you'd like to come over this Friday night to the flat, for dinner."

Sarah's fork stopped on the way to her mouth. She put it down and looked at John for a moment before opening her mouth.

"John, you know why I don't come over."

"I know Sherlock makes you uncomfortable."

"John, I'm just not comfortable with him."

Sarah finished her chicken and pushed her plate aside.

"So are you spending the night tonight?" Sarah leaned forward over the table and John concentrated on keeping his eyes on hers.

"Do you want me-"…? John's words were cut short as a scream rang in the restaurant.

The whole restaurant was in frenzy – masses were screaming and running for the front doors, the wait staff trying to calm everyone down.

"Stay in the booth." John looked meaningfully at Sarah.

He worked his way through the swirling hysteria and to the source of the first scream. A man had dropped from his chair and was lying face-up on the floor.

"You call 999." John pointed to the man's wife. She nodded her head, tears ruining her caked on makeup.

John knelt down next to the man and felt for a pulse – there was nothing. John leaned back on his haunches and sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"The police are on their way," the woman said shakily, still crying.

The wait staff and managers had finally gotten the restaurant to calm down, and the people returned to their seats. John mouthed to Sarah to 'stay where you are', but he stayed by the body. He was a doctor and he'd have to give a statement to the police.

John knelt down once again next to the body, trying to ascertain the cause of death. He looked perfectly healthy, if not a little portly and of middle-age. There was no knife wound or bullet hole to suggest something malicious, but he didn't look like a stroke victim, or someone who had died of a heart attack either.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade let me through." John heard Greg's voice in the now hushed establishment. "Aah Dr. Watson, what are you doing here?"

"I was on a date." John commented sourly. "Have you called Sherlock yet?"

"Already here John."

"How did you get here so fast?" He asked in surprise, stepping aside so Sherlock could examine the body.

Sherlock didn't answer. Instead, Emma told John about the dead prostitute they had been examining when the 999 call came in from the restaurant.

"Alright boys, set up a perimeter. I don't want anyone coming in or out of here until we're done. Sally, interviews; anyone who is male or female and slight you got that?" Lestrade barked out orders to his crew. "I also want you to check everyone here for poisoning, just in case. Barkley that's your job."

Lestrade ran his hands through his hair, sighing.

"We're going to be here all night."

?

"Are you sure?" Lestrade asked Sherlock again.

"None of the people you interviewed were right; they're all innocent."

Sherlock had watched while Sally had interviewed every single person in the restaurant who matched the description Sherlock had given. It had taken three hours to get everyone cleared, but no one else had been poisoned.

"It could have been something different, something slower acting, but we won't know until results come back." Sherlock said slowly.

He left the presence of the DI and walked around the restaurant, examining. He sighed, tracing a finger over the wallpaper. The destruction the panic of the people had caused meant that there was nothing for him to find.

Sarah and John were the last to be tested for poison and when they came out clear Sarah burst into sobs. John panicked but took her in his arms.

"Please, stay over tonight? I don't want to be alone." She whimpered into his shoulder.

"Of course I will," he cooed, running his fingers down her hair.

"I'm going to find Sherlock and tell him OK?" He pulled back so he could look at her, searching her eyes. She was definitely in a state of shock.

She nodded her head and he kissed her forehead. John searched the restaurant and found Sherlock talking to Lestrade.

"Hey, Sherlock, Sarah wants me to stay with her tonight; we've been cleared so we're leaving."

"Alright John."

John shook his head but waved goodbye and walked back over to Sarah, putting his arm around her waist and guiding her outside and into a cab.

"Alright Lestrade, Emmaline and I will go now." Sherlock said loudly enough for the restaurant to hear.

Sally and Anderson had been giving him plenty of dirty looks for still being there and the way Emmaline was looking at Sally meant too much longer there and Emma would end up in jail for the night.

Sherlock and Emmaline hailed a cab back to 221B and the ride was silent. Sherlock was thinking about what he needed to do once they got back home, and Emmaline was falling asleep against his shoulder.

"Come on, we've got lots to do." Sherlock nudged Emmaline with his shoulder, waking her up.

"Sherlock it's 8:30." Emmaline whined.

Sherlock smiled, helping Emmaline out of the cab. He led her up to the flat and deposited her on the couch gently.

"You can sleep for a half-hour while I'm busy, then I'm waking you up." He told her, kissing her cheek softly.

Emmaline mumbled and closed her eyes, sinking into the couch. Sherlock took his coat off and hung it up on the back of the door before walking into the kitchen; it took him ten minutes to re-arrange the science equipment he had there. He had set up an extremely rudimentary 'poison-tester'.

For forty-five minutes Sherlock proceeded to test every scrap of food in the flat for poison. Once he was satisfied that it was all safe he put it away and proceeded to unload all the dishes from the cabinets; he washed and dried every dish twice before he was mollified with their cleanliness.

Rolling up his shirt-sleeves, he walked back into the main room.

"Come on Emmaline, time to get up."

She slowly blinked open her eyes and sighed, stretching her hands above her head.

"What?" She said sleepily, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand.

"Come on we have to do laundry." Sherlock took her hand and led her up off the couch into their room.

"Which laundry?" She asked, still sleepy.

"All of it." He began tearing clothes from the closet, depositing them on the bed.

Emmaline shrugged her shoulders and started taking clothes from the dresser. When there was a big pile she gathered an armful and took it downstairs to the laundry room to do.

"Now, while that's washing, we're cleaning the bathroom." Sherlock insisted.

Ten minutes later they were both on their hands and knees scrubbing the tile floor, and then cleaning the tub and any other available surface. Every hour Emmaline would get up to go switch out the laundry.

At 4:00 in the morning when the bathroom was clean, the laundry was done, the dishes were put away and the food was safe, the two occupants of 221B collapsed into bed exhausted.

"Why did we do all of that?" Emmaline mumbled, curling up under the blanket.

Sherlock didn't answer; he was already fast asleep.

_A/N: Thanks for reading! Remember that as always reviews are appreciated because they help me to write faster! Also, I will be writing a prequel fic once this book is done: it will be Emmaline's back story, and how she and Sherlock met and fell in love. Yay! _


	3. Chapter 3 25-5-10

_A/N: Here's chapter 3, I hope you enjoy! _

Chapter 3 _25-5-10_

John walked carefully downstairs, rubbing his tired eyes. He hadn't slept well at all last night: nightmares. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a cup, filling it with coffee Emma had made.

"Sherlock, again?" John asked, exasperated.

Sherlock was at his chemistry set testing their food. He had done this at every meal, with everything they were going to eat.

"Yes, we need to make sure our food is safe." Sherlock never took his eyes away from the microscope.

John sighed but grabbed a plate of food and sat down in the living room. Sherlock was convinced that the killer would try to poison them at some point so he was taking every precaution.

Emmaline strode past John and into the kitchen; she kissed Sherlock's head and reached around him to grab a piece of his toast.

"I've got to go to work." John heard her say from his spot in the armchair.

Sure enough he heard Sherlock's chair scrape back as he stood up. Ever since Emmaline had been attacked last month Sherlock had insisted on walking her to her car every time she had to go somewhere on her own. John knew that he checked every inch of the car to make sure no one was hiding and opened the door for Emmaline himself to be sure that no one would surprise her.

"Bye John." Emmaline waved before walking out the door and down the stairs. John waved before gathering more egg on his fork and finishing his breakfast.

John walked into the kitchen and turned the hot water on, cleaning his plate. He had just dried it and put it away when Sherlock came back upstairs to eat his own breakfast.

"So, have you noticed that bandage on Emma's finger?" John asked casually. He was very curious by nature.

"She got a tattoo," Sherlock said through a bite of toast.

"Oh a tattoo. What of?" John opened the fridge to get a glass of orange juice, ignoring the severed head.

"String." Sherlock stood up and walked out to his armchair to finish eating.

John stood there for a second, confused before he shrugged his shoulders. Figuring Sherlock just didn't want him to know he headed upstairs to take get clean clothes to take a shower.

Stepping into the hot water he quickly washed his hair and let the soap run down into the drain. When he heard a screeching noise from downstairs he winced. Sherlock was playing the violin, and not well. The case had been getting to him; he absolutely hated the poisoning cases because he thought they were cowards, but if it was a seven he'd take on anything.

Toweling off and dressing John walked back into his room. Sherlock needed out of the house but he had no idea what to do with him. John marched over to his bedside table to get his firearm. Looking at it he was hit with an idea. He put the gun in his waistband and trotted down the stairs.

"Sherlock put your coat on."

John threw the detective his coat; even if it was May he never went anywhere without it.

"Why?" Sherlock had stopped playing and was looking at John with a raised eyebrow.

"We're going out. You need to get out of the house."

"No I don't."

"Sherlock, coat."

Sherlock sighed but carefully put away his violin and bow before putting his coat on.

"Where are we going?"

John hailed a taxi, ignoring Sherlock's question, and pushed his friend inside.

"We're going to the firing range."

"Oh John why?" Sherlock huffed, shoving his hands in his coat pocket.

"Because you're angry; I'd rather listen to you shooting a gun then that god awful violin for another second. Besides, it's practice."

John paid the cabbie and they walked up to the entrance.

"I already know how to shoot, John; maybe not as well as you, but enough to keep myself alive. Besides I practiced yesterday on the wall."

"We're trying not to anger Mrs. Hudson Sherlock."

Sherlock chuckled as John opened the door for him.

"Fine I'll go along."

John paid the man at the counter and they were led to the firing range in the back of the shop. They each picked out a handgun and put on the headphones in their respective cubicles.

There was the sound of muffled gunshots as the each emptied their clips into their paper targets. John took off his headphones and re-loaded his gun.

"So why don't you have a gun then?" He asked Sherlock.

"I don't like them."

John barely had time to get his headphones back on before Sherlock started shooting again. He waited for his friend to stop before taking his headphones off again.

"So, I've been wondering, why doesn't Emma have a ring?"

He heard Sherlock huff. John smiled; Sherlock hated all the curious questions John asked but would answer them without a complaint.

"Neither of us have wedding bands; it's dangerous for anyone to even think I might have a wife. But she has an engagement ring. I gave it to her a month after we were married."

"Why so long?"

"I had forgotten about it. The ring was my grandmother's and I only found it because I had been cleaning out my closet; found it in a box on the back of the top shelf."

"And you don't let her wear it in public?" John knew Sherlock was paranoid when it came to Emma and how much she was allowed to say about being in a relationship in public. He didn't want anyone dangerous to him to hurt her, so he allowed her to say very little about him.

"She can wear it wherever she wants. I just insist, since it's an old ring, that she gets it cleaned at a little place that knows what they're doing. Not these corporate jeweler's that are everywhere now-a-days. She probably wanted it cleaned for her birthday."

John of course was still curious and asked another question.

"So Mycroft knows about her? Did you ever tell him?"

"No; I assumed he knew of course, what with his spies crawling all over the place."

John again waited patiently for his friend to stop shooting before he continued.

"Actually, she told me she went looking for him."

"Really?" Sherlock tried to sound indifferent but John could tell his interest was piqued.

"Yeah; she said two years after you got married she went searching for him and told him all about her."

"Why would she do that?" Sherlock asked sounding baffled.

"I'm assuming because she wanted to get to know her extended family. Although she did say she asked him for a favor."

"John, if you're going to keep hanging off and not telling me…" Sherlock left his threat in the air.

"Alright, alright. She told me that she wanted to see Mycroft and ask him if there was a way for her to be combat trained, like someone in the military without actually signing up to defend the country. So she was trained with the military for six months."

"Why would he agree to that?" Sherlock shot once, at the targets abdomen.

"Mycroft agrees to anything that would benefit his agenda of trying to keep you safe."

Sherlock made a noise.

"I thought something was going on; four years ago there was a period where she wouldn't let me see her. And then there's the matter of her chair escape last month…"

"And you never asked her what she was up to?" John found that hard to believe.

"No I never asked." Sherlock put his headphones back on and started shooting a new paper target. He wasn't all that surprised when John started asking questions again, right after he had stopped shooting.

"So what was your guess?"

"Hmm?"

"You had to have had a theory; you always have a theory Sherlock."

"I thought she was having an affair."

"And you never confronted her, never thought about leaving her?"

Sherlock slammed a new clip into his firearm.

"She came back to me happy; how could I leave what I loved?"

"Is it really that hard?" John asked, naturally curious.

Sherlock aimed his gun and stared down it at the target dummy's heart; his aim didn't falter and the noise ricocheted through the firing range. There was a round hole through the paper dummy's heart.

"You've never had to try."

"Have you?" John asked, his gun having been completely forgotten.

Sherlock didn't answer. He just put away his gun and headphones and strode past John. John sighed, guessing he had encroached on personal territory. By the time John had caught up with Sherlock outside, he had hailed a cab and was waiting.

"Are you hungry?" He asked John, as the latter man got into the cab.

"Yeah I could eat."

Sherlock gave the driver directions to a nearby café and they rode in silence, the only sound when John texted Emma the name of the café asking if she wanted to join them for lunch.

John and Sherlock got an outside table and had ordered drinks by the time Emmaline got there.

"I ordered you water." Sherlock said as she sat down next to him.

"Oh, thanks." She kissed his cheek before picking up her menu and perusing it. "What have you boys been up to today?"

"John took me out." Sherlock said, pushing his own menu away.

Emma raised her eyebrow at John.

"I took him to the firing range."

"Oh." She looked at Sherlock in surprise. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Not really no."

"Sherlock…" Emma scolded. "John thought you would enjoy some time out of the house; thank him."

Sherlock huffed but inclined his head.

"Thank you John for a lovely time this morning."

"You're welcome." John thought it was unnecessary but was glad of the effort Sherlock had made; even if it had been at Emma's behest.

"Oh, Sherlock, I called the Heron's and my ring will be ready for my birthday." John noticed she looked ready to burst with excitement and Sherlock's next question seemed to help explain why.

"And what extravagance have you planned this time?"

"What do you mean?" John asked, looking from one to the other of them.

"Two years ago we went to Cirque De Soleil, and last year she made us host a dinner murder mystery party."

Emma smiled across the table at John.

"He solved the crime within six minutes of starting – Mrs. Hudson was the killer."

"It wasn't that hard to figure it out; honestly you must have known I would've solved it that quickly."

"I know; I've just always wanted to have one."

Their waiter came over just then and took their order and their menus.

"So what is your birthday event this year?" John asked, thoroughly intrigued.

Emma dug through her purse before pulling out four tickets.

"Starry Night's', a ball and Van Gogh exhibition downtown at the museum."

"Four tickets?" Sherlock asked.

"You and me, and John and Sarah." She put the tickets back in her purse and took a sip of her water.

"If you'll excuse me." Sherlock stood up from the table and headed for the bathroom.

"Oh god finally," John breathed.

"What?" Emmaline looked at him confused.

"Remember how you told me that four years ago you spoke to Mycroft about those six months of training?" John spoke quickly, trying to get everything in before Sherlock came back to the table.

"Yes?"

"And Sherlock never asked you where you had been or what you were doing?"

"John where is this going?"

"He told me today; he thought you were having an affair?"

"He what?"

They had been leaning forward over the table, but John spied Sherlock. He moved back quickly and took a sip of his soda. Emma looked furious and he hoped she could school her expression before Sherlock sat down.

"Has the food arrived yet?" Sherlock asked, sitting down.

"No not yet."

Emma and John kept up jovial conversation while they ate, Sherlock sometimes interjecting a comment or two.

"Oh, look at the time." Emma glanced up from her watch. "I've got to head back into work now."

She picked up the box housing her leftovers and gave Sherlock and John kisses on the cheek before walking across the street to her car.

John stood up with his own leftovers when Sherlock's phone went off. John sighed and turned around, waiting to hear who the text had been from.

"It's an address, a text from Lestrade."

Sherlock hailed a taxi and told the driver the address from the text. It took the driver forty-five minutes to drive to a small suburb outside of London. Finally the cab stopped outside of a modest two-story house with a white picket fence and azalea bushes by the front door.

"Why are we here?" John asked, hoping against hope that no one was dead.

"There's been another murder here John." Sherlock's voice was calm but his jaw was locked.

"Please, lord, don't be a child."

"It's not." Sally Donovan had come up behind them, from her own police car. "It's the mother." She stalked past them and into the house.

"Oh fantastic." John muttered.

He and Sherlock entered the house after Sally to hear sobbing coming from one of the front rooms. John followed it to see a man holding two sobbing kids and an officer trying to calm all three of them down.

Turning his head he saw Sherlock speaking to Lestrade.

"She's in the small bathroom just down the hall. Found her locked in there already dead."

Sherlock walked away to examine the body but John approached Lestrade.

"How was she found?"

"Her son got sick at school and they tried to contact her. When she didn't pick up they phoned the father who brought the boy home and checked the house for his wife. Noticed the downstairs bathroom was locked and the light was on, so he busted his way in. He found her dead on the floor."

"How did she die?"

"Poisoning." Sherlock's voice called from down the hall. "He forced her into this room and tied her up, see the ligature marks here? Placed a rag under the door and covered the vents so the gas couldn't escape from the bathroom." Sherlock craned his head to see more of the room.

"Where did you take the bucket?" He asked, pointing out a large ring mark on the floor.

"It's outside, waiting to be tested."

"Don't bother. It's household chemicals; with enough of them in there, left in here with no ventilation, she died of poisoning. A different method than we've seen, but it's our killer."

"God, who could do this?" John asked, staring at the body. She looked maybe thirty-four.

"This narrows the killer down to a male; no woman could have done this to a mother."

Sherlock bent down by the body again, having noticed red finger marks on her wrists. He photographed them and stood back up.

"I know, you want faxed reports." Lestrade spoke before Sherlock could.

Sherlock nodded his head before walking past John. He stopped in the foyer, and for the first time looked at the crying family. His eyes wandered over the husband and girl but paused on the young boy. He shook his head to clear his mind and walked outside and down the drive.

"Do you suppose we'll have to walk very far to get a taxi?" Sherlock asked John, who had come up behind him.

John shook his head, as always taken aback by how cavalier Sherlock could act at crime scenes. They only had to walk out of the neighborhood and another twenty minutes into a small suburb of London before they could get a cab to London and 221B Baker Street.

When they arrived Sherlock strode straight upstairs and started playing his violin – well this time. Emma asked John why they were both home so late and she told and he told her about the murder of the stay-at-home mom.

"How old was the boy?" She asked in an aside, so Sherlock couldn't hear.

"Oh, I don't know…he looked six maybe." John shrugged, wondering why the age of the boy mattered.

Emmaline nodded her head, in thought.

"Oh, I forgot; Mrs. Hudson asked me to pick something up for her. I'll be back shortly." She smiled in apology and ran downstairs.

John sat down on the couch and looked up at the face Sherlock had re-painted on their wall. When he was bored he liked to try shooting it with John's gun. John would have to start hiding it better. He looked down at his pocket when his phone rang. It was a text from Sarah, asking him to the movies.

"Oh Sherlock, Sarah's just invited me to see a film."

"Go, I don't care."

"You don't want to come?"

"No John."

Sherlock started furiously swiping the bow against the violin strings, ending the short conversation. John shook his head and grabbed his jacket.

"Goodbye Sherlock."

There wasn't an answer, but John hadn't really expected one. Emmaline came back home after John had already left.

"Sorry, Mrs. Hudson wanted me to pick up some steaks for her. I think she's got a date. Sherlock?"

He had stopped playing the violin and was looking off into space, seeing nothing. Emmaline walked up to him and put her hand on top of his.

"Sherlock…was it that boy?"

Sherlock jerked his head at her touch.

"Emmaline, how long have you been here?" He shook his head to clear it and stood from the chair. "I think I'll take a shower."

"Do you want me to start dinner?"

"Yes…that'd be nice."

Sherlock sounded far-away, like he wasn't noticing her or what she was saying. Emmaline knew it would pass, as it always did. She walked into the kitchen to start cooking.

"I'm making chicken, I hope that's OK!" She yelled to be heard above the shower.

There wasn't an answer so she figured she'd just have to give Sherlock more time to mellow out. Not to mention she was still angry about what John had told her earlier in the day, and she wanted to bring it up with Sherlock.

The chicken was frying in the pan and the green beans were done by the time he got out of the shower and trudged into the kitchen in his pajamas and blue silk robe. He came up behind her and, uncharacteristically, he hugged her.

"Sherlock?" She whispered, not wanting to frighten him.

"Shh," he whispered, his face buried in her hair.

He stayed like that for minutes; the chicken sizzling and popping in the pan, Emmaline's steady breathing, and the peach smell of her hair.

"I'm fine now." He stepped back, completely composed. Emmaline didn't know how very healthy it was for him to push everything back, but she accepted it for now. There would be moments where they could talk later.

"Could you get plates then?" She asked, turning off the stove.

She put the chicken and green beans on the plates he had gotten down and led him to the cleared off dining table.

"What do you want to talk about?" He asked; he had noticed that this was the same chicken she had made when she had broken into his apartment six years ago. That meant she must have something she wanted to discuss.

"John told me about your theory," she said before placing a bite of parmesan chicken in her mouth.

Sherlock froze for a moment before spearing green beans on his fork. It would be best for him to remain silent until she was ready to talk. So dinner passed in silence, with Emmaline looking at him occasionally, wondering how to start.

When they were done Emmaline took their plates into the kitchen and Sherlock could hear the water turn on. He folded his fingers under his chin and sat there at the table, waiting. Five minutes later the water turned off and Emmaline came back out. He could feel her eyes on his back, and he closed his own eyes.

He felt her hands on his pulling them down. She was kneeling next to his chair, turning his hands over, looking at them, and running her fingers over their rough surface.

"What are you doing?" He asked, intensely curious.

"These are the only hands that have touched my body. This is the only mind I know that can understand mine." She had moved their intertwined hands to touch his forehead. She then brought their hands to rest over his heart. "This heart…this heart owns me."

Sherlock untangled their fingers and took her chin in one hand.

"It almost broke me Emmaline, thinking you were seeing someone else. You were the first person I gave that power to and it hurt even giving it up. You were the first person I let myself love."

"And you thought I was having an affair, and you stayed?"

"It didn't matter how much it hurt me; I loved you too much to let you go."

"And now?"

"I'll never let go of you."

Emmaline threw her arms around his neck, softly molding her lips to his. But he snaked his arms around her and crushed her body to his. She finally had to come up for air, gasping.

"Sherlock…how could you think I'd leave you, after…" Sherlock didn't let her finish. He put a finger on her lips and shook his head.

"Please not tonight." His voice was broken and Emmaline noticed his eyes were red. He had been crying.

"Not tonight."

Sherlock drew forward and kissed her again, gently. She felt his kiss long after she had stood up and given him her hand. Taking it, she guided him into their room.

_A/N: Hope you enjoyed, please review! It might take a while longer to get chapter 4 done just because I haven't finished the outline for it but I'll try to get it done ASAP. Thanks for reading! _


	4. Chapter 4 28-5-10

_A/N: This is a long chapter guys…28 pages in Word. I'm so proud! Please enjoy Chapter 4. ((also this chapter takes place over two days…the first part is on the 28__th__, and the carnival and afterwards on the 29__th__))_

Chapter 4 _28-5-10_

Sherlock drummed his fingers restlessly against his thigh. John had taken away his violin and Mrs. Hudson had locked it up in her flat. He sighed and leaned his head back against the chair. Emmaline had been at work more often the past three days and John had been spending most of his free time with Sarah. Sherlock thought the two of them had agreed to avoid him when he was so bored.

There hadn't been a murder in three days and Sherlock was indeed bored stiff. Looking at his wall of information didn't help because there wasn't anything new there to help connect pieces. His head rolled down to look at his watch. It was half past five meaning that Emmaline and John would both be coming home soon.

He extracted himself from the chair with a flourish and loped off into the kitchen to start supper. The last time Emmaline had come home she had been so tired and had collapsed onto the couch, asking Sherlock when dinner would be done. He had simply replied 'whenever you make it'. After that he had made her dinner every night she worked; he didn't want any more bruises from the riding crop.

John came into the kitchen with a huge grin on his face.

"Sarah and I are going on a date tomorrow if you two want to join us."

"Who's going on a date?"

Emmaline came into the kitchen, smiling as well, and carrying two garment bags.

"What are those?" John narrowed his eyes suspiciously. He assumed they had something to do with her party.

Every time John had brought up her birthday she had smiled and shook her head. Emma wouldn't tell him anything about it, which left him frustrated. He wanted to know what was going on so he wouldn't be surprised. Sherlock had filled him in on the rest of her birthdays and he was overtly wary of anything she planned.

"These," she held up the garment bags, "are your suits. I've already told Sarah about it so she can plan her outfit accordingly. Here," she handed John one of the bags. "Go put it away and no peeking!" She warned.

She turned her attention to Sherlock who was now putting pasta in boiling water.

"Don't you dare tell him what it looks like," she threatened.

Emmaline left the kitchen to put away Sherlock's suit and to take off her jacket. She came back into the kitchen to find Sherlock stirring chicken in a creamy sauce and John drinking a cup of tea.

"So what does your dress look like?" John inquired.

Emmaline shook her head, grinning.

"It's a surprise; not even Sherlock knows."

Sherlock turned his head around and looked her up and down but couldn't discern any clues from her at the moment. He shrugged his shoulders and went back to the chicken; surely she would want him to be surprised anyway.

"So what's this date tomorrow?" Emma asked John, taking a cup of coffee from him with a 'thank you'.

"Oh Sarah and I are going out tomorrow, about 10ish I would say. I was wondering if you two would like to join us."

Sherlock huffed a sigh but didn't say anything. Emma shot his back a stern look but gave John a smile.

"We would love to John. Where are we going?"

"Oh it's a surprise; I haven't told Sarah."

Emma raised an eyebrow but didn't question him further.

"Here supper's done."

Sherlock turned the stove off and ladled the creamy chicken and noodles onto two plates.

"Are you not eating?" John asked; Sherlock had been eating small amounts of food the past few days, which had surprised him, but he was glad of his flat-mate refusing dinner; it meant a sense of normalcy.

"Transport John." His friend gently reminded him.

Emma sighed and rolled her eyes but didn't comment on her husband's eating habits. She was as used to his not eating on cases as John was.

Dinner was a short affair; while John and Emma ate, Sherlock had sunk into his armchair once again, his fingers reaching out automatically to grab his violin. He remembered there was nothing there just as his fingers closed on empty air. John looked over at his friend.

"Good luck with that." He smiled at Emma before going to the kitchen to wash off his plate, and then up to bed.

Emma rolled her eyes but washed off her own plate and walked over to Sherlock.

"Are you planning on staying up late?"

"Hmm?"

"You should really get some rest love; we're going to be up early."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at the pet name. He folded his hands in his lap but didn't rise from the armchair.

"Sherlock?"

Emmaline touched a light hand to his face; his skin felt clammy.

"Have you not been feeling well lately?"

Sherlock shook his head, closing his eyes.

"I've been…having nightmares."

"Nightmares?"

Realization dawned on her.

"You should have said something. We could've talked."

"Can we…tonight I mean? I need to talk Emmaline."

Sherlock looked up at his wife with a miserable expression, his eyes downcast. She took his hands in hers and helped him up out of the chair. He took a slow step towards their bedroom.

"You can always talk to me Sherlock; it's good for us."

"I hate it." He whispered.

She wrapped her arms around him from behind, burying her face in his back. His hands were clenching hers to his chest, his eyes looking at the floor.

"I know; I hate it too."

She reached up on tiptoe to kiss the back of his neck before ushering him into their bedroom.

"Come on; get it off your chest Sherlock. It's been a while hasn't is, since we talked?"

"Almost a year." He replied quietly, closing the bedroom door behind him.

?

"Oh my gosh, this is going to be fun!" Sarah squealed.

She was in Emma's room waiting for her to get dressed while Sherlock and John were in the main room.

"Can you believe it's 65 degrees out?" Emmaline said from the bathroom.

"I know, it's so warm!" Sarah gushed. She was wearing knee-length shorts and a jumper, claiming she was perfectly fine.

"Oh I don't think I've worn this since I was in my early 20's."

Emma stepped out of the bathroom in a leopard tank and yellow short-shorts with sandals. She paused at the dresser to slide golden bangles onto her right wrist before turning to face Sarah.

"And you have no idea where John is taking us?"

Sarah shook her head.

"None whatsoever."

Emma pushed out her bottom lip in a pout.

"Oh well, I'm sure they're bored out there waiting on us."

Emmaline opened the bedroom door and she and Sarah walked out into the main room. John was standing by the mantle waiting, while Sherlock was fiddling around on his laptop. He looked up when the door opened and raised an eyebrow at his wife's dress. Rarely – these days – did she wear anything less than work appropriate attire.

"Oh you look lovely." John strode across the room to give Sarah a kiss on the cheek.

Sherlock put away his laptop and stood with a complaint, walking over to his coat.

"I don't want to go out," he told Emmaline quietly.

John and Sarah hadn't heard a thing, and in fact they were walking down to street level to get a cab.

"You need some fresh air Sherlock; you haven't been feeling well." She replied, helping him with his coat.

Sherlock didn't respond; he knew she was right of course. The past few days he had been sulking around the flat and acting morose. Their chat the previous night had helped but he still felt like sitting inside all day with the curtains drawn.

John had asked him why he was so upset and he had simply replied 'a lack of murder'. It wasn't necessarily a lie, but it wasn't the truth either.

"Sherlock, I really think some fresh air would do you good right now."

She held onto his arm as they walked downstairs and outside.

"We can talk some more later, and we can go to the church down the street."

The cabbie that John and Sarah had picked honked impatiently at them. Sherlock could see John pointing them out and telling the cabbie to just hold on a moment.

Emmaline turned to face Sherlock, taking his face in her hands and pulling it down so they were level.

"I know Sherlock." She licked her lips and her voice cracked. "I know."

Sherlock smiled, looking into her suddenly sad eyes. He pulled her against him, swinging an arm around her shoulders. He kissed the side of her head, smelling the strong scent of vanilla. He closed his eyes to savor the aroma a moment before opening the cab door for her, and getting in the front himself.

It was a thirty minute cab ride before John smiled and pointed at something in the distance. Emma turned her head to look and saw, to her delight, a carnival.

"Are we going there?" Emma asked, having a hard time keeping her voice low.

"Yes, I thought it would be a nice surprise for everyone." John beamed happily and took Sarah's hand.

The cab stopped ten minutes later and the occupants got out and walked to the carnival entrance. They all paid for entrance and tickets and entered excitedly. Even Sherlock seemed be paying more attention to his surroundings, his eyes a little brighter.

"I told you getting out would do you some good." Emmaline whispered, leaning in close to him.

He didn't reply but he did take her hand and squeeze it affectionately.

"So what should we do first?" John asked, eyeing the games.

"I wouldn't mind a friendly game." Sherlock said, following his friends wandering eye.

"Alright then." John puffed out his chest a bit before walking over to the nearest game.

It was a game where you had to squirt water into a clown's mouth and inflate the balloon at the top. Whoever filled it first, won.

They both put a few tickets on the counter and picked up the water guns. Sherlock's eyes roved the game, taking everything in. A smirk touched his lips before the teenager running the game told them to start.

John aimed the water gun with military precision and never wavered, shooting the water straight into the clown's mouth. Sherlock however, had done the math right before the game and angled his gun slightly to fill the balloon faster. The bell rang announcing the game was over, and crowning Sherlock victorious.

Sherlock grinned and slapped John on the back.

"Good game John. Excellent aim, as ever."

John smiled at his friend; he knew Sherlock really was congratulating him on his marksmanship and not trying to talk down to him.

"Thanks; not so bad yourself. Oh, I think he wants you to collect your prize." John pointed back to the young man running the booth.

"Oh right."

Sherlock strode back to the game and looked at the assortment of various stuffed animals they had to choose from. He looked back over his shoulder at Emmaline and pointed at a panda high up in the back.

Sherlock gave the boy a thank you and walked back over to his friends, clutching the bear somewhat nervously. It was silly but seeing Emmaline dressed like she was when they had met, it made him feel young again. He felt like they were on their first date and he knew nothing about her; certainly not that pandas were the only animal that she enjoyed.

He coughed and held the bear out to her, a slight flush touching his cheeks. He wanted to shake his head to clear it of the nonsense, but when he saw her wide smile and start of surprise, he couldn't help but smile back.

"I won it for you, over there." Sherlock jerked his thumb back over at the booth.

"Thank you Sherlock."

When she reached up on her tiptoes to kiss him he was surprised; however it was a good one. Her lip-gloss reminded him of when she was eighteen and the first time she had kissed him. She seemed to be thinking along the same lines because when she pulled back, she was also flushed but smiling happily.

They were brought out of their reverie by Sarah squealing and leaning forward to kiss John. Apparently he had gone back to play the game again and had won against a group of three teenagers. The floppy brown dog that Sarah held was proof that he was indeed a good marksman.

"What shall we do now?" The tips of John's ears were red but he had an arm casually slung over Sarah's shoulders. She was holding the dog and looking tremendously pleased.

Emmaline and Sarah both turned at the same time, their noses having caught the aroma of carnival food.

"Food sounds pretty good right now; are you guys hungry?" Emmaline asked, holding the panda in the crook of her arm so she could hold Sherlock's hand.

"Yeah I could eat." Sarah replied, still looking at the cluster of food stalls.

"OK, OK." John steered Sarah towards the food, Sherlock and Emmaline following.

"What are you hungry for?" Sherlock whispered in Emmaline's ear.

"Oh, what do they have?" She asked herself, looking at the menu.

The three of them were deciding what to order, Sherlock waiting patiently. He was still insisting that 'the rest is transport' and so wouldn't eat.

Two minutes later they were walking around, the three of them eating corndogs and sipping on Coke. Emmaline made Sherlock drink the last of her soda before she threw her corndog stick and empty cup away.

"Oh John the Ferris wheel!" Sarah tugged on his arm and pointed at it.

For being older than her, Emma sure thought Sarah was easily excitable.

"Well, do you want to go on?" John jerked his head at the ride, speaking to Emma and Sherlock.

"Why not?" Sherlock replied, anticipating his wife's answer would be yes anyway.

Emmaline smiled and squeezed his hand affectionately before dragging him along behind John and Sarah to the Ferris wheel. There was no line so they got on immediately, Emmaline wary of the fact the ride never stopped moving.

John and Sarah got into the cart above Sherlock and Emma; John was enjoying looking around at the scenery, seeing how high up they were. Sarah was clutching his hand, her palm sweaty.

"Sarah, it's OK." John reassured his girlfriend, who was terrified of heights.

"I know it's just…we're so high up."

Her words rang truer as the wheel stopped, with them at the top. Her hand clutched John's even tighter, her face paler than usual.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

Sarah didn't speak, but she did give a slight shake of her head. John smiled and tucked her under his arms, embracing her tightly.

"There now you're safe."

"Thanks John," Sarah said, slightly less scared now.

She reached over and kissed him lightly on the lips. John smiled and kissed her back. She pulled away and snuggled into his arms, still trembling slightly out of fear. John kissed the top of her head and peered down to see how Sherlock and Emmaline were doing.

He noticed their heads pressed together and their lips moving, though he couldn't figure out what they were discussing. He could tell though that the subject must have been unnerving: Sherlock's face looked ashen and Emmaline was paler than Sarah was.

After a few more moments at the top, the Ferris wheel started up again allowing them to disembark once they reached the bottom. Sarah was pulling John in the direction of the food carts again claiming she needed something to settle her stomach.

He peered over his shoulder to see that Sherlock and Emma were following at a large distance, but Emma waved when she saw him looking. He waved back with a smile and turned back to Sarah. She had stopped them in front of a dessert stall and was ordering two funnel cakes.

The four of them sat down at tables they had scooted together and John and Sarah set to work on devouring their dessert while Emma picked hers apart delicately, placing strands of the fried dough in her mouth.

"Come on Sherlock, at least try some." She pleaded, holding out a small strand covered in powdered sugar.

"Transit, Emmaline." He reminded her, tapping his head with a finger.

"Wife, Sherlock." She replied, leaning over and forcing the dough into his open mouth.

He seemed about to protest, or spit the food out, but thought better of it and chewed.

"It's not bad," he told her with a shrug of his shoulders.

He broke off another strand of the funnel cake to eat and she pretended not to notice.

"What do you want to do after this?" Sarah asked, swallowing a piece of dough.

John looked at his watch and then turned in his chair to look behind him.

"I'll expect you'll want to go to the parade?" He questioned, turning back around to face her.

"Oh when does that start?" Sarah asked her eyes alight.

"In a few minutes." John replied taking the last strand of their funnel cake.

Emmaline and Sherlock hurried to finish their own confection before wiping off their fingers with flimsy paper napkins. The four of them had to jostle and push their way through the thickened crowd to get a good spot but finally the found a place where all of them could see well enough.

The parade started and it was a spectacle that if, had Sherlock been a normal man, Emmaline would have covered his eyes. It featured women in scantily clad costumes marching up and down the street showing off, and men dressed the same. As it happened she caught Sarah's blushing cheeks and wandering eye a few times during it.

In the middle of the parade Emmaline heard a beep that indicated someone had texted Sherlock. Even though she was having a good time, there was nothing like a crime scene and she hoped it was Lestrade texting him.

Sherlock flicked open his phone and gave it a cursory scan before handing it to Emmaline and tapping John on the shoulder. It said: 2 murders in - come at once DI. L.

She looked up from the text in time to see John shaking his head.

"You and Emmaline go ahead, Sarah and I are going to stay and watch." John knew Sherlock would want to get to the crime scene as soon as possible, but that Sarah would want to go nowhere near it. As much as he wanted to go, he had a duty as Sarah's boyfriend to remain with her.

"We're taking my car so you'll have to get a cab." Emmaline joined the conversation to give them this tid-bit of information before pulling on Sherlock's coat sleeve and shoving her way back out of the crowd.

"You seem quite eager." Sherlock observed, popping his collar.

"There hasn't been a murder for you to investigate for three days: I won't have a bored husband anymore; of course I'm excited."

"Am I really that bad?" Sherlock inquired.

"Oh yes." The abruptness of her answer surprised him so much he let out a short laugh.

Sherlock inspected her car again, and deeming it safe, opened her door for her. Once he had shut it and gotten into the passenger seat the car was started and she pulled out.

"What was the address again?"

Sherlock read it aloud from the text and the fifteen minute car ride was passed in silence, Sherlock quivering with excitement.

"Does this mean I can have my violin back?" He asked, rolling his head to look at her.

Emmaline bit her lip, in thought, before answering.

"I suppose so."

Sherlock smiled; they were pulling up to a dilapidated old flat building. Emmaline parked the car and got out; no sooner had Sherlock come around to her side than they were greeted by DI Lestrade.

"Hello Sherlock, Mrs. Holmes." He greeted them, holding a hand out to shake. Even after six years he didn't address her by her first name when greeting her at a scene.

"Greg, with all we've been through, I'd appreciate you calling me Emma."

"We'll see." Greg gave her a wry smile and stepped in front of them to lead them to the scene.

Lestrade was one of the few people who had known about Emmaline's existence and her connection to Sherlock. He had found out a few years after the two were married and Sherlock had called her in to help out with a case. Lestrade shook his head of the thought; that case could have ended badly for her.

"Here we are." He walked through the door marked 102, ducking under the crime scene tape, and leading them into the small front room of the flat.

There were two bodies sitting on the couch, tied back to back, their heads rolled over their shoulders.

"This is Emma Hale, age 37, and her daughter Gracie Poole age 12." Lestrade pointed to each of the bodies in turn. "We've got a search out right now for the father who's missing."

"We suspect we've found our killer." Sally said walking up beside them, her arms crossed haughtily.

"Well you'd be wrong." Sherlock said, walking around the flat with a keen eye.

"How are we wrong Sherlock?" Anderson asked, walking up behind Sally.

"Because you miss everything Anderson you dolt." Sherlock said exasperatedly, hating to even acknowledge the coroner's presence.

Sherlock walked up to Lestrade and pulled him aside, pointing different things out around the room. Emmaline knew that Sherlock liked to talk to Greg by himself rather than everyone else now. He liked everyone to acknowledge his genius, but he also liked to be listened to; Greg was the only person who would take what he was saying seriously.

Peering at Sally from the corner of her eye, she could see the woman shifting uncomfortably in her presence. The sergeant was even flicking her eyes in Emma's direction every few seconds. _Good, serves her right _Emma thought.

Sherlock and Lestrade walked back over, Greg shaking his head.

"The husband didn't do it; clear signs of struggle between two males. One of them definitely smaller than the other." Sally huffed and stormed off to the other side of the flat, Anderson following, a scowl on his face.

"I assume the girls were killed by a direct injection?" Sherlock asked Greg smoothly.

"Yeah; same kind as before." Lestrade was shaking his head. "God we really thought it was the husband; it would have made a nice clean end to the case." He shrugged his shoulders. "Oh well."

"Who is the husband?" Emmaline asked curiously. She was surprised Sherlock hadn't inquired yet.

"Oh, who has the photo?" Lestrade muttered walking away to consult with an officer.

"Oh I didn't think they'd have a picture; Lestrade's getting very efficient isn't he?" Sherlock smiled and Emmaline pushed her shoulder against his chest playfully.

"It's a crime scene, stop acting so happy." However she had a hard time keeping her own grin off her face.

"I can't help it; this is my element." He looked around, gesturing with a hand.

"I know it is; good thing too."

Sherlock knew what she was talking about and a frown touched his features. He didn't like talking about that either.

"It wasn't your fault." She whispered so no one else could hear.

"How was it not? And now it's happened twice!"

"Sherlock, I promise it was my own stupidity that got me into trouble. Luckily however I have an incredibly smart husband whose talent is the macabre."

Emmaline leaned into him, clearly hoping this would reassure him but he was still frowning slightly when Lestrade brought the photo over.

"Here you go." He said handing it over to Emmaline.

She took the photo with a smile and a 'thank you' and looked down at it. The smile was instantly wiped from her face as she let out a small yell and covered her mouth with her hands, leaning further into Sherlock. He noticed the trembling in her body and the way she was trying to stop herself from making a noise.

Sherlock, keeping an arm on his shaking wife, stooped down to pick up the picture she had dropped. Seeing the man in it was like a cold knife ripping through him. Sherlock had never seen the man before but based on Emmaline's reaction, he knew it must be.

"Name's Gary Poole, aged 44. Abducted from this flat probably last night if coroner estimates about time of death for his family are correct." Lestrade was eyeing Emma carefully but didn't comment on her strange reaction to the photo.

"Could an officer please get her some water?" Sherlock asked, more gently than Greg had ever heard him speak.

Sherlock, his hands settled gently on Emmaline's arms, guided her to a chair far enough away from the couch to be comfortable.

"Are you OK?" He wiped the bangs from her now sweaty forehead and tried looking into her eyes; she however was staring off into a corner of the flat, seeing nothing.

Sherlock sighed but stood up.

"What's he playing at?" He whispered more to himself but he knew Emmaline had heard at the jerk she gave.

He walked back over to the bodies on the couch and looked at them, but there wasn't much more to decipher. Lestrade walked up to him.

"Have there been any more mysterious kidnappings?" Sherlock asked before Lestrade could get a word out. He wouldn't let the officer ask about his wife's strange condition just yet.

"Let me see…" Lestrade pulled out a small notebook and consulted it for a few moments. "There was a kidnapping of a little girl a few days ago," he continued when Sherlock shook his head slightly. "An old woman about a week ago," again Sherlock shook his head. "And yesterday night a terminally ill patient was taken from the hospital." Sherlock's head perked up, an indication for the DI to continue. "Name of Jimmy Salls, aged 24 had a brain tumor that he was supposed to be receiving an operation for before he just disappeared from the hospital last night."

"Anything else?" Sherlock asked, now staring at his wife who was sitting morosely in the chair.

"No that's it Sherlock."

"Keep me informed." He told the DI, striding past and to the chair where Emmaline sat.

"We're going to go outside and get in the car now alright? I'm going to drive us back to Baker Street." He spoke slowly and clearly, wanting her to take in what he was saying.

She didn't look at him, but she did nod her head slightly indicating that she understood. He grabbed her arms gently again and helped her up out of the chair. Supporting her weight he helped her outside, amidst stares from the officers, and helped her into the passenger seat of her car. His steady fingers clicked her seat belt over her trembling body and he worked his way around to the driver's side.

The thirty minute car ride was passed in silence. Occasionally Sherlock would glance at Emmaline from the corner of his eye, checking to make sure she was alright. She was still trembling from head to toe, her head resting against the cool car window. The silence would be broken intermittently when Emmaline would shudder, try to wrap herself up in her arms, whimper and then give up. Sherlock pressed his foot down on the gas pedal a little harder.

Leading her up the stairs and to the couch proved a bit difficult since she still seemed very out of it and unaware of her surroundings. Sherlock didn't complain however; instead he just hefted her up into his arms and carried her up the stairs and set her down on the couch gently.

His phone beeped with a text from John: We'll be home soon – JW

Sherlock hastily typed back: Could you stay out for a while longer – SH

He raised an eyebrow when John's reply came in: ;)

"Emmaline, I'm going to the kitchen now to get you some water."

He reached a hand out to pat her knee but thought better of it and just went to get her something to drink. By the time he had come back out of the kitchen she was curled up on the couch, hugging her knees to her, and looking so depressed Sherlock thought his heart would break.

He set the glass of water on the end table and took a step back, turning towards the armchair. He stopped however when he felt a hand grabbing his shirt. He looked down to see Emmaline clutching his shirt tightly in one hand, looking up at him.

"You aren't afraid to…have me close by?" He asked softly, searching her gaze for any sign that she might be uncomfortable.

In response she clutched his shirt tighter in her fist and started at him imploringly. Sherlock gave her a small, sad smile before sitting down on the couch next to her and drawing her into his lap, sheltering her in his arms. She stiffened a little before relaxing and burying her face in his chest, finally releasing her tears.

She sobbed and sobbed, hot tears falling from her eyes and soaking Sherlock's shirt. They didn't say anything; she just lay curled up in his lap crying, and he held her while she did, running a hand over her hair and trying to comfort her as best he could.

After minutes of this her tears dried out and she simply whimpered into his chest for minutes afterward. Once he was sure she was calmed down slightly, he picked her up and carried her into the kitchen, setting her down at the island.

"I'm making some early dinner alright?"

It was only four o'clock but Emmaline looked exhausted. She nodded her head and grabbed a paper towel to blow and wipe her nose, but made no attempt to dry the tears from her face.

Sherlock turned on the stove and started cooking, but kept glancing back at Emmaline; he hadn't wanted to leave her alone in the main room but he knew she had to eat. He had chanced carrying her into the kitchen hoping she wouldn't flail out at the close contact.

He looked at the woman sitting in his kitchen, wearing shorts and a tank-top, her face streaked with tears and wet mascara. He turned fully around and leaned back against the countertop, his arms crossed.

"Do you ever regret it?" He asked his voice soft.

"Regret what?" Her voice was hoarse from all the crying she had done and she coughed to clear it. She was mildly curious about what Sherlock was asking but still felt like she could fall to the floor and start crying again at any moment. As it was her hands were still shaking.

"That you've only been with me – don't you feel like you're missing out on something?" He was scared of the answer he might receive, and was indeed surprised that he had asked the first question at all. It wasn't like him to feel sentimental or to express emotion at all.

"Do you?" She asked in turn, cocking her head slightly to give him a strange look.

A small smile touched his lips as he turned around to check on dinner. Emmaline had been Sherlock's first relationship as well, and no, he felt that he was missing nothing. He felt more complete than he ever had when he was with her and hoped sincerely that she felt the same. He turned back around and took up his previous position against the counter.

"You're different from me though; you…care." Sherlock ended his statement, staring unblinkingly into her eyes.

Emmaline was surprised when she smiled a little bit; small but she know Sherlock saw it.

"You are exactly what I needed; you always will be."

Sherlock turned back around to check their dinner, grinning hugely to himself. He flicked the stove off and divided the food onto two plates.

"You're eating?" She asked, eyeing his plate warily.

"I figured it would help…if I ate with you."

Sherlock was wary to broach the subject that had started her crying now that he seemed to be talking again.

"Oh." She looked down at her food and then back at him before picking up her fork and eating quietly.

Sherlock didn't try to break the silence, and he tried not to let her catch him watching her. Though he was perfectly comfortable with the level of quiet in the flat, he hated the cause of the calm. Emmaline would need time to recover from the shock of seeing that photo, and he knew she would put on a brave front for John when he came back meaning Sherlock would have to act along with her.

Sherlock knew exactly who the man in the photo was, as soon as Emmaline had reacted the way she had. He had made a vow as soon as he had found out that if he ever encountered that man he'd kill him himself. It would be better, much better, for Gary Poole if the police found him first.

He looked up as Emmaline's fork scraped against an empty plate. They had finished their dinner; without a word he took their empty dinnerware back to the kitchen to wash it, keeping an eye on her over his shoulder every few minutes.

In the middle of washing the rest of the dirty dishes Emmaline came into the kitchen. She held up Sherlock's phone; he hadn't even heard it beep.

"John says he'll be home soon. I think I'll make some bread pudding for him; he said it's a favorite of his, and it'll be such a nice surprise."

"OK." Sherlock said, a little more angrily than he had intended.

"Sherlock, I don't want to tell John." Her voice sounded stronger than it had in the past hour.

"I assumed you wouldn't." He scrubbed a pan heatedly.

"Sherlock it's my decision." She stepped back as soapy water flew out of the sink, Sherlock turning around quickly.

"I hate it! I just…I hate it Emmaline I really do." His tone was like fire and the hatred that bubbled up in his chest felt like a snake that would strike out at anything just to make the pain of feeling so enraged go away. "He…" Sherlock broke off when Emmaline looked at him.

"I hate it; you weren't there Sherlock." Her voice was soft, a whisper and it moved through him.

"Emmaline I'm sorry." His voice broke; he knew that it was out of his hands, beyond his control but he still couldn't help but feel that it was his fault somehow.

"I didn't even know you; how can you be sorry?"

"Because I love you, and you hurt."

He drew her into his arms quickly and without asking. He heard her sharp intake of breath and relaxed his hold a little; she put her arms around his middle and hugged him, more tears falling.

He closed his eyes and kissed her forehead repeatedly among murmurings of 'you're safe now' and 'no one will hurt you'. She sniffed and leaned back.

"I am safe with you Sherlock, no matter what you believe. And I'm so glad I have you."

She wiped her eyes again before walking to the entrance of the kitchen.

"I'm going to go wash up, so John doesn't see."

She left the kitchen and Sherlock heard the shower start; he went back to washing dishes and by the time he was done she had come back into the kitchen. She was wearing her wet hair up, her face was clear though her eyes were still a bit puffy, and she was wearing a pair of Sherlock's pajama's which were slightly too big for her.

She flitted around the kitchen grabbing what she needed and making the dessert for their flat-mate. Sherlock observed, as she worked, that they both had a terrible habit of repressing what bothered them. However they both also had the habit of bringing it up with their trusted loved ones at a time when they were alone; he knew that once John was in bed Emmaline would bring it up again so as to get it all of her chest.

The door opened and Sherlock looked up; John walked into the kitchen alone, no Sarah. He noticed a present behind his back, and that John was trying to hide it from Emmaline.

"I just popped in to say that Sarah has gone home, and I have to go take a shower."

John retreated from the room, his eyes on Emma the whole time. Sherlock chuckled at his friend before turning his attention back to his wife. She had just finished the dessert and was turning around, a huge grin plastered on her face.

"Do you know what's in the box Sherlock?" Her voice was steady, if not still a little hoarse, and there was genuine curiosity in her eyes.

"You're a much better actor than I am." Sherlock sighed. "I may have helped John in deciding what your present would be, yes."

Emmaline smiled but didn't say anything; she knew there would be no getting it out of Sherlock, but she was excited to find out what John had gotten her. She'd have to look through his room while he was out and shake the box.

John came back in, also in his pajamas and asked the couple what they wanted to do.

"Well Sherlock needs to change; he's the odd man out." Emma jerked a thumb at Sherlock's attire.

"Alright fine; you two decide while I'm gone." Sherlock trudged off to his room to change into pajamas.

"We could watch a movie?" Emma suggested, pointing to the TV and DVD player in the main room. It often went unused but she had brought her collection of DVD's with her from her flat.

"Oh what have you got?"

John walked out to the bookshelf devoted to her movies and spent a few moments browsing them.

"You have a lot of Johnny Depp here…" John said, brushing his fingers against a few titles. "Oh, you have _Rocky_?" John pulled the DVD out, looked excited.

"You like _Rocky_?" Emmaline asked surprised.

"Of course I do it's a classic."

John walked over to the DVD player and put the disc in. Sherlock came back out and settled onto the couch, holding out a hand implying he wanted Emmaline to join him.

She sat down next to him and John next to her and looked up at the TV.

"You picked _Rocky_?" Sherlock asked as the menu came up.

"Yes I did." John said, pushing the play button on the remote.

Sherlock shrugged and snaked an arm around Emmaline's waist while John threw an arm over her shoulders and they settled down to watch their movie. Sherlock and Emmaline smiled in the dark as John hummed along with the theme song; he didn't notice: he was absorbed in the film.

_A/N: Firstly I would like to thank you for reading this long chapter (it's like running a marathon) and for sticking with this book. It will only have seven chapters I believe at this point, and three short 'aside' chapters. After this I will set to work on a prequel detailing Emmaline's life and backstory, how she met Sherlock and they fell in love, and how they came to be in the spot they were in before John met her. Thank you for your continued readership, and remember, it doesn't take that long to review something and I really enjoy reading you guys's comments!_


	5. Chapter 5 30-5-10

Chapter 5 _30-5-10_

John stared at the garment bag hanging in his closet. It had only been there for two days, but he had already resisted the urge to open it more than fifty times, at least. He wanted to know what Emma had picked out for him to wear for her birthday in two days, but she had made it clear that he was not to peek.

As if his burning curiosity about his clothes wasn't enough, Sarah had called him to say she wasn't going to be seeing him until the dance. She didn't want to accidentally tell him what her dress was, or what his suit was, so she had declared that she wouldn't be seeing him for two days.

John ran his fingers over the unoffending bag, as he so often did, and tried to imagine what was inside. What kind of suit had she gotten him, and what color? After Sherlock had mentioned her other birthday's he was starting to think it would be some strange color like maroon or bright blue.

It would be so easy to just peer inside the bag for one quick peek. His fingers rested on the zipper, deciding, before John sighed and trailed his fingers down the bag, leaving it closed. He would just have to wait a couple of days before he saw what Emma had picked out for him.

Instead he finished dressing and walked downstairs to get breakfast. Walking into the kitchen to grab a coffee he found Emma bouncing up and down while making eggs.

"What's up with you?" He probed, getting a cup from the cupboard.

She turned her head around so quickly that her hair flipped over one shoulder; there was a big grin on her face.

"I opened Mycroft's present." She turned back to the eggs, mixing them around in the pan.

"So what was it?" He inquired, pouring his cup of coffee.

Emma shook her head. "I'm not telling; I'm wearing it on my birthday." She poured the eggs out onto a plate and handed it to John. "He must have known what my dress looks like because it's perfect."

John shook his head and grabbed the plate of eggs. He would never get a straight answer out of her if it had anything to do with her birthday. He took the eggs out to the couch and began to eat.

Emma herself remained in the kitchen now cooking eggs sunny side up; Sherlock's favorite. She was determined to get him to eat breakfast today.

Sherlock came into the kitchen just as Emmaline had put his egg on a plate. He made himself a cup of tea before speaking.

"Is that supposed to be for me?"

"Yes; and you will eat it." She turned around to thrust the plate into his hands.

He took the plate from her and was about to turn around when a hand on his arm stopped him.

"What?" He asked, not understanding why he couldn't leave the kitchen.

"What are you wearing?" She asked, sounding amused.

"My pajamas." He sounded affronted. "What else would they be?"

"Well…usually you cover up…more."

He rolled his eyes and looked down at her.

"Was that all this was?" He asked gesturing at her. "You were surprised by choice of pajamas?"

Emmaline had been shocked by choice of pajamas. She hadn't been aware of him coming in last night so hadn't seen it before. He was wearing low slung pants and no shirt.

"OK you'd be surprised too. It's not you. But I like it." She added as an afterthought.

Sherlock chuckled and kissed her head.

"Just for that, I'll eat."

"So all I have to do to get you to eat…is tell you how sexy you are?" Emmaline asked cocking her head, eyes twinkling with delight.

"We'll see." Sherlock squeezed her hand before walking to his armchair to sit and eat his eggs.

Emmaline walked from the kitchen to her room so she could take a shower and get ready for work. Fifteen minutes later John was watching his and Sherlock's cups and plates while the detective sat cleaning his violin. Emma walked out of her room with her hair put up and all dressed for work.

She grabbed her phone and put it in her purse.

"Oh Sherlock I almost forgot: I threw out some of your shirts because they were getting too small."

Sherlock's forehead creased. "You threw out what shirts exactly?"

"Only a few; I'm sorry but they really were getting too small."

"Fine; I'll have to replace them today. Was there any specific color I needed?"

"Are you trying to subtly ask me what colors I threw out, or what I wanted you to wear for my birthday?"

"Both."

Emmaline smiled before handing him a list.

"These are the colors I threw out, and I checked you can get them all at the same store."

"Thanks darling." Sherlock took the list and looked down at it.

"Oh John I threw out some of your jumpers too…" She turned around to look at the doctor.

"What?"

"They were getting small too…just a few of the older ones…" She spoke cautiously.

"Why were you even in my room?"

"I was up there cleaning, and checking that you hadn't looked at your suit, and I noticed some jumpers you hadn't worn in a long time; because they were too small so I thought you wouldn't want them anymore."

"Do I at least get a list?" John asked, sulking.

"Yes." Emma pulled another piece of paper out of her jacket pocket.

"I'm sorry John." Emma leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

"No, I know you meant well." John smiled. "Besides, it gives me something to do today."

"Have fun at work love." Sherlock inclined his head to give Emmaline a soft kiss.

"I'll try."

Sherlock took her hand and led her outside to her car. John walked upstairs to his room and noticed that it was cleaner. He grabbed a clean pair of clothes and hopped into the shower.

John went downstairs after he was showered to grab another cup of coffee; Sherlock had gotten in the shower so John occupied himself by looking down at the list Emma had handed him. She had only thrown out six of his jumpers…not too bad. She had even put down the sizes that he needed. Sometimes she could be a pain, but gosh was she wonderful.

Finally Sherlock walked out into the main room, adjusting his cuff links.

"Oh John you're ready; wonderful. Would you like to get your jumpers first?"

"Oh sure."

John headed out to hail a cab while Sherlock put his coat on. As soon as Sherlock got into the cab they were off to the store.

"How many of your things did she throw away?" John asked.

"Seven shirts. And a pair of pants." Sherlock looked out the window.

"A pair of pants?"

"Apparently they were improperly tailored and unfixable. How about you?"

"Six of my jumpers; six!"

"Don't worry; we'll soon remedy that."

The cab had stopped and they got out, Sherlock paying the driver. John walked ahead into the store; looking down at Emma's list he noticed it said: Walk to the back of the store. Following the instructions, he saw the back of the store had two racks of men's jumpers. John smiled to himself and started looking through them.

"Oh John really?" Sherlock stared at a sweater John had just taken off the rack.

"What's wrong with it?"

"It's got cats on it."

"I will have you know that cats are very cuddly creatures." John huffed, throwing the sweater over his arm.

Sherlock rolled his eyes but walked off to another part of the store, leaving John alone to shop in peace. John's phone buzzed; he dug it out of his pocket and saw a text from Emma.

So what's up with Molly H?

John sighed; so Emma had found out who the kind and helpful young lady was. He pressed his thumbs to the keys and texted back.

Molly was/is in love with S. M is very nice once you get to know her.

He pressed the send button and went back to sweater shopping; he hoped his text hadn't sent Emma down to St. Bart's to confront Molly; she was a nice young woman and John was very fond of her. He sensed that Sherlock was as well though the man would never admit to it.

John didn't have to check his phone the rest of the time he was replacing his jumpers. He took the six he had picked out to the dressing room and begrudgingly had to admit that Emma was right about the size of his previous sweaters.

After he had paid for them he found Sherlock out front holding a small shopping bag from the store.

"Am I allowed to ask what that is?" John asked, pointing at the bag.

"Birthday present." Sherlock said whilst hailing another cab.

"Ahh you hadn't bought her one yet? Birthday's in two days Sherlock."

"Did Sarah find anything?"

"Yeah she got Emma a bottle of perfume."

Sherlock didn't say anything; he just sat staring out the window until they arrived at another store.

"Feel free to accompany me, or look at some other store if you wish John." Sherlock tossed a few bills to the cabbie and walked into the store, John following.

"Well you've got to have someone to tell you if the shirts you're picking out are alright; after the comment about the cat jumper." He added to himself.

"Yes well I hope to be fast." Sherlock looked down at his list. "Oh she threw out my purple shirt…but she put another one on hold here. Lovely." Sherlock spoke to himself as he followed the store directions on his own piece of paper.

"So that leaves six shirts for you?" John asked.

"Yes six; we'll see if I can find that many. Oh look at this jacket." Sherlock stopped, causing John to almost run into him.

"Sherlock you have jackets."

"I know but look at it."

Sherlock ignored John's eye roll and proceeded to examine the jacket rack for his size.

"Look John, it fits perfectly; I dare say it looks rather fetching."

Sherlock took the jacket off and slung it over his shoulder.

"Oh my god you shop like a girl…" John whispered, horrified.

"I do not." Sherlock looked over his shoulder at his friend. "I shop like someone who has just had their wife throw out a few of their favorite shirts."

Sherlock turned back around; he busied himself by looking at the dress shirts.

"What about this blue?" John asked, holding up a shirt.

"Blue John? Really?" Sherlock shook his head and went back to looking at shirts.

By the time they got out of the store an hour later Sherlock had walked out with ten new shirts, two pairs of pants, a jacket and a pair of new shoes.

"Alright well I'm starving." John walked down the street and stopped in front of a food cart selling fish and chips.

John ate his lunch during the cab ride back home; Sherlock stared at the food with distaste and a slight sense of hunger.

"I don't have to work today Sherlock; I'll try and stay out of your way."

Sherlock waved his hand, indicating that he had heard, and walked into his bedroom. John huffed and walked upstairs to his own room to put away his new jumpers. He turned his head and spied his laptop sitting out on his desk. John hadn't written anything about their new case up so he sat down; he waited for his laptop to power up and began typing out their new case.

Downstairs, Sherlock sat staring at his board. He had pinned up the photos and details of the new murder as well as photos of the two kidnapped men. He turned the photo of Gary Poole over every day before Emmaline returned home from work; he didn't want her to see anything of that man in this house.

Sherlock was sure that the kidnappings fit in somehow, he just wasn't sure exactly how. It was strange for someone who poisoned people to kidnap two men; one of them would've even been physically fit enough to take him down; that meant he had used a sedative.

He sighed and closed his eyes; Sherlock could hear John coming down the stairs.

"Emma spoke to Molly today."

Sherlock's eyes flew open. "What?" He turned around to face his friend.

"Yeah she just texted me; she went to see Molly and talk to her, and Molly's agreed to be set up tonight. So she went to see Lestrade and _he _agreed to be set up tonight as well. So now she's made reservations for all of us tonight for dinner."

"Why are you telling me all this; couldn't she tell me when she gets home?"

"She wanted you to get all your complaining done now so you were compliant at dinner."

Sherlock smiled. "Infernal woman knows me too well."

"The reservations are for 6:00 this evening and she wants us all dressed nicely." John frowned at his phone.

"No John; the cat jumper does not count as nice." Sherlock said, anticipating his friend's question.

"Well its only 3:00; we've got plenty of time to get ready." John said, looking at his phone clock.

Sherlock sat down in his armchair and continued to stare at his board, effectively shutting John out. The doctor sighed and went back upstairs to finish a blog entry he had been working on.

Sherlock's phone beeped. It was a text from Lestrade.

Murder at -. Meet me there ASAP.

Sherlock sighed, leaning his head back in the chair. Finally there was something for him to do. He looked down as his phone beeped again.

Also: do you know who E is setting me up with?

Sherlock laughed; so Emmaline hadn't told Lestrade who his date would be. He loved that woman.

"John! Murder!" Sherlock grabbed a broom and tapped the ceiling a few times until he heard John's loud reply.

"I'm getting my coat on!" John yelled in annoyance.

Sherlock smiled and put his own coat on; he ran outside and hailed a cab; John got in and they were off.

"You look rather happy." John noted.

"Yes well, a nice murder always cheers me up."

"You said it was at -?"

"Yes why?" Sherlock asked, looking at his friend.

"They should be in the middle of classes' right about now. Do you reckon it's a student?"

"It could be." Sherlock looked down thoughtfully.

Fifteen minutes later they pulled up to a large campus. Police were everywhere trying to shepherd students to their classes and to keep everyone away from one small building.

"I reckon that's where we're headed." John said. Sherlock nodded and they started for the structure.

An officer waved them through and Lestrade greeted them outside the classroom door.

"It's a college professor; he collapsed mid-lecture so a few of the students dialed 999."

Lestrade opened the door and walked into the room. There on the floor was the body of the professor, and in their seats, were the students.

"Oh good you've left them here." Sherlock said.

"Sherlock we need to let them go." Lestrade urged.

"No; John came up with an interesting theory earlier. Speaking of, John, please watch the students. We don't need any of them getting away."

Sherlock walked over to the body and knelt beside it. The professor appeared to be in his mid-forties, but reasonably healthy. He was recently divorced and wearing well-tailored clothing. So he had gotten money from the divorce settlement then; could be the ex-wife trying to get back at him. However the use of poison was too much of a coincidence for Sherlock; he was sure it was the same killer.

"Did he have anything to eat or drink during class?"

Sherlock stood up and addressed the students.

"His cup of coffee." One girl pointed to the cup on his desk.

Sherlock walked over to the desk and looked at the cup; it was almost empty.

"Lestrade." Sherlock pointed at the cup. "He had enough of that to kill him inside of five minutes."

"We'll rush it to the lab."

Greg called over one of his officers and they took the cup away.

"Alright everyone I'll need you to sit in your assigned seats now."

Sherlock stood behind the desk and looked up at the class.

"Now." He repeated sternly.

John walked over to him.

"What are you doing?"

"Checking for absences."

Sherlock took the class roster and began checking names against students who were in class.

"What is this class anyway?" John asked.

"Tribal studies." The same girl answered.

"Billy Zane." Sherlock whispered.

"What?" John asked; however his friend had walked over to Lestrade, leaving his question unanswered.

"Lestrade, there's one missing student. Billy Zane. I think we should investigate it just in case. Find him, see where he was around the time of the other murders. Check his home or his dorm and see if he's got anything suspicious."

Lestrade looked at Sherlock, searching his intense gaze. After a long moment he nodded.

"Alright; if you've got a feeling about this, I'll call in a warrant." Lestrade turned away. "Oh I forgot; I'll have to call in another senior officer on this case because of dinner tonight…damn your wife making me miss all the fun." Lestrade got out his phone, muttering to himself.

"She's making me miss all the fun too." Sherlock muttered, a small smile on his face.

"So is Billy Zane our killer?" John asked Sherlock as they headed for the door.

"I think so; at least, I'll have to see a photo of him. We don't even know if he's slight." Sherlock shook his head and stepped outside.

"Come on; if we're late Emmaline will kill us."

Sherlock and John ran across the green, yelling for a cab.

?

Emmaline was in the shower when they went in; John rushed upstairs to change and Sherlock entered his own bedroom. John looked down at his phone; he had received a text from Sarah.

I'll be over soon. Don't talk to me about the bday.

John rolled his eyes but hopped into the shower. His phone buzzed again while he was washing. When he got out he wrapped himself in a towel and looked at his phone.

Dress nice.

John sighed. Did everyone think he had no idea what dressing nice meant? He reached into his closet and grabbed a white dress shirt, khaki pants and put them on before getting out a pair of brown shoes.

Yes, this looked nice. He combed his hair so that it lay down flat and admired his reflection once more. He trotted down the stairs and stepped into the main room of 221B.

"Sherlock." John acknowledged his friend.

Sherlock was wearing his usual black dress pants and jacket with his new purple shirt and black dress shoes.

"John; I see you got the memo."

"What; dress nice?" John rolled his eyes. "Does no one think I can dress nicely?"

"Not very often dear." A female voice called from downstairs.

Sarah let herself into the flat. She walked up the stairs and greeted John with a kiss.

"You look lovely." John was admiring the black dress and heels she had worn.

"Yes, we all look great, let's get a move on."

Emmaline walked out of the bedroom, looking at her phone. She was wearing a calf-length black dress with yellow lace covering down to her waist, and black heels; her hair was up, yellow chopsticks holding it in place.

"Yes right; I'll go get a cab." John led Sarah out of the room and down the stairs.

"You look ravishing dear." Sherlock kissed Emmaline's cheek and grabbed her jacket for her.

"You don't look too bad yourself," she said, pink coloring her cheeks.

They went outside and met John on the curb, trying to hail a taxi. Sarah rolled her eyes and stuck out a waving hand; immediately a cab stopped. John frowned.

"How did you do that?" He asked, opening the door for her.

"It's called be a hot woman in a short dress." She giggled, getting in the cab.

"Is that true?" John whispered to Emmaline as she crouched into the car.

"Oh yes John; very true." She turned to Sarah and both women started laughing.

John got into the cab, feeling morose, while Sherlock got into the front seat. It was a short cab ride to the restaurant; John and Sherlock helped their dates out of the cab and they ventured inside.

"Do you see Greg? He said he was here already." Emmaline was looking around the restaurant for him. "Oh, there he is!" She caught him waving; she waved back and led the group over to their large table.

"So, Emmaline, who'd you, set me up with?" Greg leaned over the table.

"You mean she's not here yet?" Emmaline frowned and pulled out her phone.

"Oh she'll be here soon; she got caught up at work."

Sherlock gave Emmaline a knowing smile. Their waiter arrived to give them their menus; the group all ordered drinks while perusing their menu.

A few minutes after their beverages arrived, Molly walked in. Emma waved her over to their table.

"You're here!"

"Yeah, sorry about that. I had to put away that poor bloke's body and then rush home to get ready." Molly took her coat off and sat down.

Her hair was pinned back and she was wearing a light blue dress that complimented her fair skin and natural makeup. Lestrade couldn't help but to stare.

"We ordered you sherry, I hope that's alright." Greg said, handing her the glass.

"Oh thank you." Molly grabbed the glass and took a careful sip.

"Emma thanks so much for this." Molly smiled.

"Oh Molly it's no big deal; I think we all wanted to get out for a while and have some fun."

"Oh yes; I know I've needed to take some time off of work; I've been so busy the past few weeks with all these murders happening."

Molly took another sip of her sherry.

"Honestly, I'll be glad when it's all over."

Emma smiled, taking a sip of her wine.

"Don't let Sherlock hear you say that; he'll be thoroughly bored when the case is over."

"Until he finds a new one you mean." Molly giggled and turned to Lestrade.

"How have you been Greg? Divorce finalized yet?"

"Yeah just about; a couple of more court hearings I suppose and then I'll be done with her."

"Oh well that's good news; I heard you were eager to be divorced after you caught her cheating again." Molly said seriously.

"Yes well…she cheated so many times…" Greg shook his head. "But let's not let that ruin our night tonight 'eh?"

"Alright."

Their waiter came back and took everyone's orders. Sherlock insisted he wasn't eating but Emmaline made him order a plate of crackers at the very least.

"Honestly, I'm fine without eating." Sherlock insisted, taking a sip of his white wine.

"Yes well I'm not alright with it; you need to take care of yourself." Emmaline held up a hand at Sherlock's protest. "I don't care how many times you've proven that you can go without eating or sleeping for days on end; as your wife it's my job to take care of you."

"I thought it was your job to hope he died and left you everything in his will." John joked, reaching for a slice of bread.

"John that's not funny." Sarah said.

"Well it was slightly funny." John insisted.

Emma shook her head but she was smiling.

"Honestly John; you make the worst jokes." Emma was giggling however so John knew she didn't mean it.

Emma reached for a slice of bread and looked up to see how Greg and Molly were getting along. They weren't even paying attention to table conversation but were talking to each other quietly.

Emma smiled and buttered her bread; _I am so good at match-making, _she thought to herself.

"Here you are."

Their waiter brought out their food and asked if anyone wanted a refill on their drinks. They all agreed that a refill sounded like a good idea.

"So, Emma, about your party…" John started. He didn't get very far however before Sarah had slapped his arm.

"I told you not to bring it up; I don't want to tell you about my dress."

"Well as long as we're on the subject of what you're wearing, since you brought it up, what is it?"

Sarah smiled and rolled her eyes.

"I won't tell you." She said, shaking her head.

"Alright well it was worth a try."

"Emma how about you?" He asked, turning his head to look at her.

"Oh no; I'm not saying anything either."

John sighed and sulked against his chair.

"You lot are no fun; I'm not even allowed to know what I'm to wear."

"I could tell you if you like." Sherlock said, peering around Emmaline to look at John.

"Don't you dare!" Emma said turning to glare at her husband.

"Sorry John she said no." Sherlock turned back to his crackers and wine.

"Your bills; whenever you're ready." The waiter handed them their checks and walked away to serve another table.

"Give them all here." Emma said, holding out her hand.

"What?" Sarah looked up at her friend.

"I invited you all out tonight; so give them here."

When no one moved she leaned over and plucked the checks from their owners' hands.

"Wow, thanks Emma." Molly beamed her cheeks pink from the sherry.

"Here, let me help Molly." Greg stood up to help her with her coat.

"Oh thank you." She smiled at Greg.

"You know I had quite a wonderful time tonight…" He took her arm and they walked away from the table and outside.

"Well they seem to have really hit it off." John commented, helping Sarah with her jacket.

"Yes; and I'm so glad too. She's really quite sweet and deserves someone nice." Emma said standing up from the table.

"Yes she's a lovely girl." Sarah observed.

"Well, if we're all ready."

The four headed outside and grabbed a cab; it was only thirty minutes away to Sarah's flat.

"No, you're not coming in. I've had far too much to drink tonight and you are not wheedling any information out of me." She turned to tell John before she got out.

"Alright fine." John sank back into the cab.

"Bye John." She leaned back in to kiss his cheek.

"Bye Sarah; see you in a few days!" He shouted after her.

She waved from her porch step; once she was inside the cab pulled away again. When they got back to Baker Street John announced he was tired and needed to sleep of his four beers from the evening.

Emma chuckled and gave him a hug.

"Good night John."

He waved, rubbing his tired eyes, and shuffled upstairs.

"I'm going to get ready for bed." Emma patted Sherlock's shoulder and walked into their bedroom.

Sherlock walked over to his fax machine and pulled out a picture of Billy Zane; Lestrade had sent it shortly after they had visited the university. He strode over to his board and pinned it up.

He pulled out his laptop and logged onto his email. He clicked on one from Lestrade.

Sherlock,

Detective Inspector Banes called to let me know how the search went. The flat was empty and there are no obvious clues about where Billy might have gone; they did however find some of the poison he had been making at home to kill his victims. They also took DNA swabs, because it looked like someone had been held captive there (most probably Gary Poole). Attached are photos of the flat I was sent.

Sherlock opened the photos and clicked through them one-by-one, searching them. However not even he could find anything out of place about the flat except for what Lestrade had already described.

He sighed and emailed Lestrade back to keep him updated; he also had to tell him that the day after tomorrow he was unfortunately busy and could not be called away for any reason. He clicked send and then stowed away his laptop. Looking at his watch he saw it was 9:45. It was also two days before her birthday but Sherlock didn't want to wait.

He peeled up a section of rug and worked a few of the loose floorboards up. He felt around for a moment until his hands grabbed what he was looking for; it was the package from the store from earlier that day.

Sherlock walked into the bedroom and turned the light on. Emmaline was lying in bed, her hair fanned around her head like a curtain. He cocked his head and stared at her a moment, struck still by her disarming beauty. Even after all these years he was amazed by her.

"Emmaline wake up."

Sherlock nudged her shoulder.

"Hmm?" Her eyelids fluttered; when she noticed the brightness of the room she turned over and buried her head under her arm.

"It's not morning already is it?"

"No; it's ten minutes to ten." Sherlock leaned over her body to peer at her face.

"Then why are you trying to wake me up?" She mumbled.

"I got tired of waiting for your birthday to give you your present." He sat back quickly as she scooted herself up.

"Are you telling me that you, Sherlock Holmes, want to give me my present early?"

She rubbed her eyes and blinked until her eyes adjusted to the light. When they did she stared at him, brow raised.

"Yes I do; here." He held out the box to her.

"It's even wrapped and everything." She said, taking it from him.

"Are you sure Sherlock?" She said, her fingers hovering over the edges of the wrapping.

"Oh just tear it apart already." He was growing impatient.

Emmaline dug her fingers into the paper and pulled the wrappings off in one fluid motion. She stuck her nails under the tape that lined the box and pulled it off; lifting the lid she was greeted by layers of pink tissue paper.

She peeled them away carefully to see her present: a forest green sweater.

"Oh Sherlock it's beautiful." She leaned over and kissed her husband.

"I saw you looking at it in the store; I thought you would like it." He smiled, proud of himself.

"I do, I love it. It's the right size and everything."

"Very funny; I only did that once you know."

"Yes but you were so embarrassed; it was adorable."

"I'm glad you thought it was hilarious."

"Thank you sweetie."

She got up to fold the sweater and put it in the top of her closet.

"I'll wear it tomorrow."

"Oh you don't have to."

"Well I will."

She got back into bed and pulled Sherlock under the covers with her. He wrapped his arms around her and she nestled her head against his chest.

"I know it's early but…happy birthday." He whispered softly in her ear.

Emmaline smiled and nestled closer into him. Sherlock kissed the top of her head and pulled the blankets over them.

"I love you." He whispered.

"I love you too."

He leaned down to kiss her deeply before snuggling her closer to him and sinking into the pillows.

"Goodnight love." He said.

"Goodnight." She answered, already half-asleep.

Sherlock smiled and turned out the light.


	6. Chapter 6 1-6-10

**A/N: So sorry about the long update but here it is!**

Chapter 6 _1-6-10_

"Good morning John." Sherlock walked out of his bedroom.

"Oh good morning." John grabbed the television remote and turned it off. "So where is the birthday girl?"

"Still sleeping; we did stay up late last night."

John raised an eyebrow; he himself had gone to bed early.

"You celebrated her birthday a little early 'eh?" He asked, stepping into the kitchen.

"Yes I suppose." Sherlock poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Well good for you." John said, giving his friend a wolfish grin.

Sherlock smiled back.

"Good morning chaps." Emma yawned and ran a hand through her messy hair.

"Oh listen to that; you sound more English every day." John smiled and poured her a cup of coffee.

"Thanks." She took a sip and licked her lips. "Has anyone made breakfast yet?"

"I was just about to start; what do we want?" Sherlock asked, turning to the stove.

"Whatever we've got I suppose." Emmaline shrugged and took another sip of coffee.

Sherlock reached down and pulled something out of the oven.

"Well, we do have this delicious cake that John slaved over early this morning."

"Oh my god! You didn't!" Emma turned to John and gave him a hug, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Thank you." She kissed his cheek before turning to look at the cake.

"He's quite talented." Sherlock set the cake down on the counter and closed the oven.

"Well thank you." John said, embarrassed.

"What flavor is it?" Emma asked, eyeing the cake with hungry eyes.

"Red velvet; Sherlock said you liked it." John said, suddenly unsure.

"It's my favorite; thank you John."

"Well let me get you a piece."

John reached into the cupboard for three plates; Sherlock handed him a knife. John cut three generous slices and passed out the plates to everyone.

"Oh this is delicious." Emma groaned after taking a bite.

"Really?" John asked. He didn't think he was that good at baking.

"It's my birthday; everything tastes better today." She giggled.

"Alright well as soon as you're done I've got your present for you." John put another bite of cake in his mouth.

Emma hurried to finish her cake. She was excited to see what her present could be.

"Look at her; she's turning twenty-six and is about as excited as a four-year old." Sherlock smiled, taking a small bite.

"It's all gone." Emma announced, holding out her empty plate.

"Alright, here you go." John reached under the table and grabbed a wrapped box.

"Oh thank you John; you didn't have to you know."

John rolled his eyes. "She hasn't even seen it yet." He said to Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled widely. "It doesn't matter; she'll love it no matter what it is."

Emma carefully began to unwrap the packaging and reached inside. She pulled out a record – an old David Bowie record.

"Oh my god." She whispered in awe.

"Sherlock told me you collected records – I found this two weeks ago in an old record store and thought you might like it."

"Oh John I do! This is so lovely!"

Emma ran her fingers gently down the cover of the record. "It's in such great condition."

She got up and kissed John on the cheek again. "Thank you."

John blushed as Emma left the kitchen to put it away.

"What'd you get her? Besides a late night?" John asked Sherlock, who was still slowly working on a small slice of cake.

"A sweater she had been eyeing."

John nodded; he knew Sherlock was the type to give practical gifts like a toothbrush or a hammer if you needed something fixed. It did not surprise him that Sherlock had given her something she had been looking at, but for it to be an item of clothing, and not a household item – that told John that Sherlock was still improving.

"When do you think she'll start getting ready?" John asked.

"Well its nine now, the exhibition starts at six…probably around one or two."

"She needs four or five hours to get ready?" John asked incredulously.

"She wants tonight to be perfect; and why shouldn't she?" Sherlock put his empty plate in the sink and headed to the bedroom.

"Where are you going?" John inquired.

Sherlock turned and wagged his finger before entering his room. John sighed and headed upstairs. No doubt, it was something he did not want to be around for.

?

John whistled. It was five o'clock and he was freshly showered. All dried off, he was standing in front of his closet and had just unzipped the garment bag containing his suit.

"Sharp." He whispered to himself.

John took it out of the bag carefully and set it on his bed. The suit was a light, cool gray with a two-button jacket and a three-button vest. Emma had picked out a crisp white dress shirt and black dress shoes to go with it. Returning to the garment bag, he also pulled out a lavender tie and pocket hanky.

He stared at the color; this had to be what Sarah was wearing. Emma would never put him in a color Sarah was not going to wear. John could not wait to see his Sarah all dressed up and ready to go dancing.

John dressed carefully but quickly so that by fifteen past five he was putting on his socks and shoes. He stopped in the mirror as he passed and combed down his hair. He smiled and gave himself the thumbs up before walking downstairs and entering the living room.

Sherlock was seated, already dressed, and playing his violin. The consulting detective was wearing a two-button black jacket and suit pants – not unlike his normal attire – and a white dress shirt. He had no tie on but also had a pocket hanky – this one red.

"I see you're dressed and ready." John commented.

"As are you; grey looks good on you." Sherlock told his friend, while swiping the bow across the instrument in one ringing note of finality before putting it away.

"Thank you; I see you are in your usual black."

"Yes; apparently Emmaline thought it best."

"It will look good with her red dress." John observed.

Sherlock's head lifted abruptly. "How do you know she's wearing red?"

"The pocket hanky." John pointed out. "It's meant to match whatever your date is wearing."

"Oh really?" Sherlock looked down at the hanky, as if seeing it for the first time. "I wondered why she would pick out red for me."

"Not a fan?" John asked straight-faced, but fighting back a giggle.

"It is not my best color no." Sherlock answered, not understanding John's attempt at humor.

At thirty minutes past five, both men were wondering when their respective partners would choose to finish dressing and arrive in the living room at a timely manner. Just as John was about to voice his concern about the time, the doorbell rang.

"That'll be Sarah." John said with a smile, darting out the door and down the stairs to greet her.

From the main room Sherlock could hear the loving murmurs of John and Sarah and the louder shouts of approval from Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock smiled to himself; Mrs. Hudson had already told him she wanted a picture before they left.

John walked in holding Sarah's hand; John thought she looked beautiful. She had put her hair up in a high bun and dressed her lobes in diamond chandelier earrings. Her lavender dress was ankle length and form fitting with a swoop of cloth above the breasts that covered her well for being a sleeveless dress. Her three inch heels were also lavender, but of a paler shade to be less noticed.

"Mrs. Hudson was just complimenting Sarah; and she told me she was busy getting ready for three hours." John stated.

Sherlock took the hint and tore his eyes from his bedroom door, and turned them to the couple.

"Yes you look lovely." He smiled indifferently.

Sarah scowled slightly but Sherlock did not pay her any attention.

"See Sarah, he's not so bad." John insisted.

"We'll see." She replied.

"Where's Emma?" Sarah asked, looking around the room and not seeing her friend.

"Almost done!" Emma called from the bedroom.

"Emmaline its thirty-five minutes past five!" Sherlock called through the door.

"I know what time it is Sherlock."

John smiled; he could almost see Emma rolling her eyes. Sarah turned to John.

"Why does he only ever call her Emmaline? She's always telling us she prefers Emma."

John shrugged. "That's what he has always called her. I have never heard him call her Emma."

Sarah sighed but turned towards the door.

"Should we hail a cab?" She asked.

"Mrs. Hudson wants a picture before we all leave."

"Sherlock, could you come in here and zip me up?" Emmaline called through the door.

Sherlock sighed but opened the bedroom door and slipped inside. He closed it behind him and turned to see Emmaline standing before him, her back to him.

"My arm doesn't bend that far back I'm afraid." She said.

Sherlock grabbed the zipper and gently eased it up, closing Emmaline in the dresses red folds. Emmaline let go of her hair and Sherlock inhaled the strawberry scent as the curls bounced over her shoulders.

"What do you think?" She asked, her voice wavering slightly.

Sherlock took his time in answering, letting his eyes rove over what she had decided to wear tonight. Even though it had been killing him for weeks not knowing, and being unable to guess, he was glad she had kept this secret. Because this moment of breath leaving his lungs as he continued to stare at her was wonderful.

The dress was red like his pocket hanky – John had been right about that. She was wearing a floor length gown that was sleeveless and ruched in varying angles. The top of the dress was fitted but as it hit her hips, it flared out into a gown. Unseen unless she was moving, she wore red lace heels.

Sherlock's eyes roved back up and to the sterling silver mesh draped necklace around her neck.

"This was the birthday gift from Mycroft; he knew what I had picked out."

Sherlock smiled. Of course, his brother knew with his spies everywhere. It was a wonder they could go about their daily business without the feeling of being watched.

Sherlock took her hands and kissed her knuckles.

"Your ring came back." He observed.

"Fresh and clean." She whispered.

"What's taking so long?" John called out. "Mrs. Hudson has the camera ready!"

"Well we can't keep Mrs. Hudson waiting – she'll spit fire." Emmaline told her husband.

"Yes she will." Sherlock chuckled.

He straightened and took her arm, leading her out into the living room. Mrs. Hudson gasped and put a hand on Emma's arm.

"Darling you are simply too good for him!" She playfully swatted Sherlock's arm.

"Now, now Mrs. Hudson." Emmaline warned, a mischievous glint in her eye.

The truth was Sherlock had told her many times after they had first gotten together that she would do better to move on, that she was too good for a sorry wretch like him. She had still never gotten a confession out of him as to why he had said those things. It bothered her to this day to hear someone else say it, even if it was in jest.

"Alright everyone stand together."

John and Sarah stood together, and Emmaline and Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson snapped a few photos, smiling all the while.

"Oh just look at you all." Tears made her voice thick.

"Mrs. Hudson we're just going out; we'll be back tonight." John insisted.

"You just all look so grown up!" She said, a tear escaping her eye.

"Mrs. Hudson, we're all of us well into our thirties. Except for this one." Sherlock said, taking Emmaline's hand.

"But you are babies to me dear." She patted Sherlock's cheek affectionately. "All right you better get going. Call me when you're on your way home and I'll put on some tea."

"Thank you Mrs. Hudson."

They all filed out the door and stooped to kiss the old woman's papery cheek. As soon as they were all outside she shook her head.

"And I have a terrible old woman's premonition that _something _is going to happen tonight."

?

It was nine o'clock. John and Sarah were dancing on the floor space allotted inebriated couples to hold each other. Sherlock and Emmaline were viewing the works of Van Gogh with a careful eye, Sherlock with one hand around her waist.

Having eaten before coming to the event none of them was very hungry or thirsty, though Sarah had had a few drinks.

"The brush work is just amazing." Emmaline commented.

"Yes it is quite beautiful." Sherlock leaned in for a closer look.

"Come on." Emmaline tugged on his hand and pulled him away from the paintings, and towards the dance floor.

"What are you doing?" He asked with a sigh.

"Trying to get my husband to dance with me." She said with a smile.

Getting her way, she led him towards Sarah and John before stopping; Sherlock wrapped his arms around her and rested his cheek on her head. John winked comically at him before turning Sarah and nestling her into his own arms.

"Are you enjoying your birthday so far?"

"It is much better than the murder mystery dinner." She commented, snuggling closer to him.

Sherlock smiled, remembering. "You should've known I would have it solved quickly."

"I know; I had just always wanted one."

Sherlock chuckled. They were not so much dancing like the other couples; their arms were wrapped around each other and they were swaying to the music. To them, dancing was more an excuse to hold each other.

"Does it bother you that we don't know how to dance?" He asked suddenly, watching as other couples twirled each other around the floor to the gentle music.

"No; I like the way _we _dance."

Sherlock smiled and bent down to kiss her cheek.

"That's all I get? Really?" Emmaline smiled and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"You want more, in public?" He asked with a cocked brow.

"Just a little more." She held her thumb and forefinger about an inch apart.

"With you, a 'little bit' is usually a lot."

"So?"

Sherlock chuckled but did as she asked and bent down once more to press his lips firmly against hers. Her fingers scraped against the back of his neck and wound themselves in his hair.

He pulled back with a gasp. "I told you so."

She did not reply but instead stood on tiptoe to kiss him again. Sherlock hungrily obliged. It was in the middle of their kiss that the first scream rang out.

Emmaline pulled back to look at Sherlock. "I didn't think it was that bad." She smiled goofily.

"Not us; him." Sherlock stared at the balustrade in front of him.

He recognized Billy Zane from the photo Lestrade had sent him. However, now his hair was brushed back and he wore a black tuxedo with coat tails.

John approached Emma and Sherlock carefully. "People have collapsed; Sarah's one of them. What the bloody hell did he do?" John's voice was venomous.

Sherlock looked around and indeed people had collapsed all over the museum. He noticed that it seemed to be people with glasses or plates of food in their hands.

"It's the food; he poisoned the food." Sherlock whispered to John.

"Ahh." Billy's calm voice filled the museum hall. "I see my three friends are here. I am glad; you see, I have a little game I want to play."

The three stood silently.

"No talking? Good choice. You are right Sherlock: the food and drink has been poisoned. So how lucky for you that none of you had any."

"I am merciful however; it's a slow acting poison. So you see, these people have a chance. And that chance, is _you. _The Three Musketeers." Billy ran a hand over his slicked back hair.

"You want the antidote? Come and get it."

Billy turned and ran.

"After him." John yelled.

He, Sherlock and Emmaline all ran up the nearest staircase and down the hall after him. They could hear his voice echoing so they knew he was nearby. At the end of the hall they turned and were greeted by three doors. Each door had a freshly painted letter on it: E, S, J.

"We're meant to go in our own door?" John asked.

"Ding, ding! Give the man a prize!" Billy's voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time, filling the empty hall. He continued.

"Each of you has to pass a special task. If you do, I will give you the antidote and you can have _me._ Should even _one _of you fail, all those people will die and I will get away."

"I refuse." Sherlock said staring at his door with a critical eye.

"You don't have a choice!" Billy yelled. "All those people will die. And it's in your power to save them Sherlock Holmes. Surely someone as power craved as you can appreciate that. And don't you want to see what's behind your door Emmaline Lillian Johnson Holmes?"

Sherlock reached out for Emmaline's hand. He could only guess at what would be behind her door.

"And you, John Hamish Watson? I have something extra special for you, _army doctor." _

John's spine tingled with the chill. Emmaline wondered how he knew their full names; they had never met the young man before. Sherlock did not want to know what was behind his door. Many things had plagued him in his life and judging from the young man's tone of voice…he had picked unpleasant tasks for them.

"Step through if you dare."

John took Emma's other hand and squeezed it. The three of them stood there staring at their doors, no one daring to move. As one they took a careful step forward; all they had to do was touch the handle and turn.

"I'm afraid." Emmaline whispered.

"I know." Sherlock replied.

John said nothing; the woman he loved was lying downstairs dying slowly while he stood here. He let go of Emma's hand and stepped through his door.

Sherlock stooped down to give Emmaline one last chaste kiss.

"I believe in you." He whispered, letting his temple rest on hers for a few seconds before pulling away.

"I love you." She said as he opened his door and stepped inside.

_What a sick and sadistic person. _She thought of Billy as she stared at her door. Emmaline shook her head and thought of the people downstairs. Opening the door carefully, she stepped into the dark room.

**A/N: There are only four chapters left to go in this book, and I'll try to write them quickly. I have foolishly tried to write this, my HP and my Die Hard fics at the same time. Never again. **


	7. Chapter 7: Emmaline's Door

**A/N: Thanks for sticking with me this long! Almost done with this fic now, then on to the Prequel! Just a quick WARNING, this chapter is kinda dark and does deal with some unsavory themes. You have been warned. **

Chapter 7: Emmaline's Door

The stark contrast between the hall and this poorly lit room caused Emmaline to blink. Compared to the brightly lit hall this room was like a pit. There was one table, a few feet from where she had entered the room. This table had one chair near her, the other chair across from her. In this chair was an occupant.

Emmaline's breath faltered as she looked at who sat in the metal backed chair. It was the missing man, Gary Poole. Emma backed up and clutched at her chest. _No. I cannot be here. Not with him!_

"Let me out! Let me out!" She screamed, turning to pound on the door.

"Wait just a moment Emmaline. Doctor Emmaline Lillian Johnson Holmes. Do they give out doctorates in medicine to the queasy? Or did you have to earn yours?" Billy's voice echoed through the room from some distant place.

Emmaline's fists continued to beat on the door. "Let me out!"

"But all those people will die." His voice taunted.

Emmaline paused a moment. She wanted to say _I do not care. _But she couldn't. Because then what did that make her? Selfish, a coward? Because right now all she was thinking was that, she was a scared twelve-year-old girl and the monster under her bed was sitting right in front of her.

"There's a good girl. You would never let that happen, would you?" Billy's voice coddled her away from the door and farther into the room.

"No; you are too good. And you know what Sherlock would say."

At the thought of Sherlock, Emma again stopped. _He would want me nowhere near this room, nowhere near this man. _Being so far into the room…so close to him, repulsed her. She had already begun to sweat, chills racing up her spine. Emma took a step back. _Sherlock would want you out…he would want you safe. _

"You are playing my game Emmaline." Billy hissed.

Emma recoiled at the sound. It was strange hearing another voice say her full name – she could only ever remember Sherlock calling her Emmaline. He insisted on it. Hearing the name on someone else's lips sounded wrong.

"Sit down."

Emmaline obeyed the dark and chilling voice; she took steps further into the room and sat in the chair. Gary Poole looked up at her and smiled wickedly.

"You know what to do Gary. And you, Emmaline, will sit and listen." Billy commanded.

Emmaline clutched the fabric of her dress in her fists, trying to calm herself down. But she could not; it was too hard to concentrate on anything with this man in the room. All she wanted to do was scream for her mommy but she could not – mommy was dead and Sherlock was far away. Tears threatened to spill forth but Emmaline successfully kept them at bay – she would not cry in front of this man – her monster.

"It has been too long Emmaline." Gary smiled sadistically at her squirming discomfort. "How is your mother?"

"Dead." Emma answered shortly.

"I'm so very sorry to hear that. How did it happen?"

Emma took in a shuddery breath. _How long is he going to keep up conversation? I can't handle this. _"She was in a car accident."

"I'm sorry. I know you two were close." Gary's face soured at a memory.

Emmaline closed her eyes and tried not to lose control. Her staying sane and calm was all that was keeping those people downstairs alive. But how could she be calm – he was in the room with her.

"My new friend here has told me we have an uninterrupted amount of time together." Gary smiled wolfishly, his eyes raking over her body.

Emmaline's eyes snapped open and she caught sight of how he was leering. _Oh god no! _She thought to herself.

"You know we never got that far when you were younger…you were my first you know." He said in a sweet whisper. "I wanted to try you out more but your mother had to interrupt us. I have been looking forward to an opportunity like this for so long Emma." He sighed longingly as he said her name.

"I was _twelve_ you bastard!" The scream tore from her throat, a sob clinging to it. He merely laughed at her display of outrage.

"You came to me." He purred, reminding her.

"You were a family friend. I thought you could help." Emma whispered.

"And didn't I? Didn't I help poor little Emma?"

"Shut up!" She screamed. "Shut up!"

"NO!" Gary stood up and walked around to her side of the table, gripping her arms roughly.

"Get off of me!" Emma shouted, pushing against him.

"I've waited fourteen years to see you again little Emmaline…my first."

Gary traced a gentle hand down her cheek. Emma turned her head and bit his finger hard, drawing blood. She spit the foul substance in his face.

"You bitch! After all I did for you…all I opened you up to!" Gary's hand came back to slap her.

She brought her free hand up to rake her fingernails down his cheek and kicked at him to get away.

Gary was faster. He howled in pain at the scratches that bled into his eye but he reached out a hand and grabbed her around the waist. With one move he had kicked the chair out of the way and slammed her face down into the table.

He leaned over her to whisper in her ear. "I hear you have a husband nearby…I wonder if he'll be able to hear you screaming."

Emmaline bit her lip as sobs racked her body. She was helpless, a little girl. The monster under her bed would get her this time. Then she felt it. Her hand had touched something metallic under the table that felt strangely like a handle.

"Emmaline, kill him." Billy's voice rang out through the room.

Gary laughed. "With what, sweetheart?" He taunted her.

Emma felt the object to be sure of what it was before grasping it in her hand and pulling back, elbowing Gary in the face. She whirled around and pointed the handgun into the startled face of Gary Poole.

"Kill him Emmaline."

"No, please, please don't! Please don't!" Gary begged, taking careful steps closer.

"Do it."

Emmaline's breath rattled in her chest. The man who had caused her so much pain, and so much suffering. The man who had ruined everyone for her, except for Sherlock. Sherlock had accepted her, cared for, and loved her even after she had told him about her past. But she _wanted _to do it. How could she let him get away with what she had done.

Gary was close to her now, inches from her. And he was smiling.

"Just give me the gun Emmaline." He cooed.

"Only my husband gets to call me that." She spoke through clenched teeth. He had only a second to look worried before she had lined the barrel up with his temple and fired.

The body of Gary Poole fell over as Emmaline was splattered with warm blood. She gasped and stumbled back into the metal table, the gun slipping from her grasp.

"I never had much patience for scum like Gary Poole. Child molesters make my skin crawl." Billy's voice radiated throughout the room.

Emma put a hand to her face and felt the warm sticky blood coat her fingers.

"Know that your challenge was the easiest. I will not be so kind to John or Sherlock."

"What are you doing to him?" Emma whispered, knowing that Billy understood which man she was talking about.

One word issued forth from Billy's lips and filled the chilled silence in the room. One word that engulfed Emmaline's heart and caused her to collapse to the floor in a heaping sob.

"_Jonathan." _


	8. Chapter 8: John's Door

**A/N: Again this chapter may be a bit disturbing, but I really didn't go into too much detail for exactly that reason. Please enjoy John's challenge. And next, Sherlock!**

Chapter 8: John's Door

John took a careful deep breath as he stepped into the room. The smell of bleach and antiseptic reminded him of the hospital.

"Hello John." Billy's voice oozed from the overhead speakers like an unwanted pest. "I have someone here – he is dying to meet you!" Billy cackled madly before the speakers clicked off.

John walked carefully further into the space.

"Oh God." His knees shook as he took in the appalling sight.

A man was strapped and bound to a metal table with a tray of medical tools next to him.

"This is Jimmy Salls. Perhaps Sherlock told you about him?"

John licked his lips. "Yes." He croaked out.

The man who had gone missing from his hospital bed days before and who was in desperate need of surgery – he had a brain tumor that _had _to be removed. John grabbed at a chair and sat down in it. He had a dreadful sense that he knew what this man was going to ask him to do.

"He needs surgery John; you are a doctor."

John shook his head. "No I won't."

"Either remove his tumor, or Sarah dies."

John closed his eyes as he thought of all those people lying poisoned downstairs.

"Alright."

John cleared his mind and stood up from the chair, determined. Surgery was not that difficult – he had performed it before. Brain surgery was another matter completely but he would have to try not to think about it.

John took off his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. He walked over to the tray of medical tools, surprised to find that they were adequate.

"I suppose by now you're wondering what's going to knock him out?" Billy asked.

"Yes there's nothing here…" John's voice trailed off.

"He will be awake."

John could practically see the malicious smile curl Billy's lip as the oily voice resonated.

"What?"

"Jimmy Salls will be awake while you perform his brain surgery."

John blanched. He knew that it was routine for patients to be _awake _during brain surgery so that the doctor knew he was not cutting out anything vital but to be…_aware, _that was something completely different.

"Tick tock Doctor Watson."

John looked at the young man's face. "I am so sorry."

He shook his head and picked up a scalpel, pressing it against the young man's head. John had requested the young man's medical file after Sherlock had told him about it, and Lestrade had readily agreed. He knew this man's file by heart. He knew where the tumor was, where to cut…but nothing could prepare him.

As soon as the man felt the scalpel against his head he started flailing against his bonds. John shook his head and sighed. He had to think of this as if he was back in Afghanistan. It was the only way he would get through it in one piece.

With one arm John reached around to press a hand to the man's chest to keep him steady and with the other, he started to cut. The warm blood oozed between his fingers and the man screamed and flailed again.

John pressed harder on the man's chest to keep him still and continued to cut further in. After ten minutes of John trying to reach through the layers of skin and muscle and skull on the head the young man finally passed out. John sighed and brought his other hand to the back of the head.

He needed to concentrate on this task fully or he would not be able to keep him alive.

"You're doing so well John." Billy encouraged.

John gritted his teeth and ignored him. The doctor had to be careful here – only the tumor should come out. He reached his knife in carefully and cut into the brain. The man arched his back before settling back onto the table.

Watson removed as much of the tumor as he felt comfortable with and quickly began stitching his patient up with his rudimentary sewing needle and thread.

"Well done!" Billy exclaimed, followed by applause.

John wiped his bloody hands on a towel and rubbed his sore eyes. "You're barbaric."

Booming laughter filled the room. "You and Emmaline have done well – Sherlock has been well, disappointing. You better hope he comes around soon if you want to see Sarah alive again."

"John? John?" The doctor could hear Emmaline's voice in the room.

"Emma? Oh my god!" He dropped the towel he was holding and ran to her, taking her in his arms.

"You're covered in dried blood, are you alright?" John stepped back to examine her face and neck which were indeed covered in blood.

Emma shook her head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Alright." John held her again for a few moments. "Is that a gun?" He pulled back to see what she held in her hands.

"That's not important. Did he say anything about Sherlock?" She asked desperately, a manic look in her eyes.

"He said he has been 'disappointing' whatever that means." John's voice shook from the nerves.

"Oh Sherlock." Emma whispered.

"Do you have any idea what his challenge is?" John asked, curious.

Emma took in a shaky breath and looked at John. "Jonathon."

"What? I'm right here." John looked at her, very confused.

Emma shook her head sadly. "No; _our _Jonathon. There's something I have to tell you John."

John listened stoically as Emmaline told him the story.


	9. Chapter 9: Sherlock's Door

**A/N: I'm so mean to my characters…please enjoy Chapter 9 but do be warned that it is dark like the last 2 chapters. **

Chapter 9: Sherlock's Door

"I assume you already know what's waiting for you behind this door." Billy's cold voice drifted through the room.

"My nightmares." Sherlock replied.

He stepped forward and sat with a flourish in the one chair in the sparse room. In front of him was a rather hastily constructed screen. Light came on behind him and Emma filled the screen.

"This is live Sherlock; this is what's happening right now." Billy told him before clicking out.

He could hear no sound coming from the screen; all he had was picture. Sherlock wanted to close his eyes but he forced himself to watch – he had to know that his wife was safe.

And the camera followed her as she stepped into the room. The camera showed him who else was in the room and he shook with rage. Gary Poole was sitting silently across from her like a cobra, waiting to strike.

Unfortunately, for him there was no sound, but the picture was clear. He could see Gary's smile as his eyes raked over her, up and down and over again. A growl built low in Sherlock's chest. He clutched the arm rests tightly causing his fingers to go numb from the pressure.

Sherlock stood when the man on the screen got up from his chair and _grabbed _her. He could not watch this…but he had to make sure she was safe. He had to know that Emmaline was not in any danger.

He smiled with pride when Emmaline bit his hand but panic gripped him when Gary slammed her down against the table, his body pressed so closely to hers. The video cut out.

"I'm afraid you don't need to see what happens next." Billy spoke seriously over the speakers.

"That's my wife! You bastard, that's my wife!" Sherlock shouted in a rage.

"Exactly. This is why I think it best to preserve your wholesome image of her."

Sherlock stood there confounded. Was he serious? Was that man…was he…? Sherlock did not want to think about. Billy was playing psychological games. And they were _working. _Before he could separate people and not worry – his emotional side separate from his deductive side. However, Emmaline and John had changed all of that. Because of them, he _cared. _And caring was _not _an advantage.

"Let's get to why we are really here. Of course, I enjoyed tormenting you with that little video, as she has been in similar danger because of you before. But you know why you are here, and what I am going to make you relive."

"Yes I do." Sherlock whispered, sitting down, exhausted.

His mind was filled with panic and worry for Emmaline, for John, and most strangely of all, for himself. He knew what Billy wanted him to think about. And Sherlock did not want to obey. Those memories were too dark for him; he could only think about them with Emmaline there to share his thoughts because they had affected her as well.

"What was his name?"

"Jonathon." Sherlock released a breath he had not realized he had been holding. Already he could feel the well deep inside him fracture.

"His _full _name."

Sherlock closed his eyes and looked down at the floor. He was not strong enough for this.

"Jonathon Caradoc Holmes."

"And who was he?"

Sherlock could hear the eagerness in Billy's voice. The _want. _He knew what this was doing to Sherlock and he craved it.

"He was my son." Sherlock croaked his throat thick with unshed tears.

"But Sherlock, you do not _have _a son."

Sherlock sighed and rubbed his fingers over his sore eyes. It had been nearly six years but still thinking about it hurt. Still trying to remember him hurt. Even thinking about what life could have been like hurt.

"Oh John's done. Good for him he passed. And so did Emmaline, if you are wondering. She did her part rather well." There was no hiding the smile in Billy's voice.

Sherlock growled deep in his chest.

"Don't worry. She'll come back to you just as broken as she ever was." Billy promised. "Now about this son…where is he?"

Sherlock rolled his head to the side and stared at the wall. Highlights from _after_ flashed through his mind. Emmaline screaming and crying, being disappointed in him. Asking him how he could be so selfish. Finding comfort in Lestrade's open arms while Sherlock sat there high and dazed, staring at a multitude of colors mapped on his brain. And the grieving and the healing. However, Sherlock had never healed, had never quite gotten over it.

"You will learn to answer these questions if you want those people downstairs to live." Billy's voice was hard, demanding.

Sherlock let out a shaky breath and giggled, throwing his head back. "Do you think I care about those people? I care about _me. _And this _hurts me!" _

"Not even John, losing poor Sarah? What if I threw Emmaline back into her room with Mr. Poole?"

Sherlock paled at Billy's threat. He did not doubt for a second that he would do it. And as for John…well, he could always find a new girlfriend.

"I no longer have a son." Sherlock answered simply.

"Tell me Sherlock, what happened to him?"

Sherlock shut his eyes against the question.

"He died."

"Oh I could tell that much. No, I want you to relive it Holmes. So tell me, what happened?"

"Then I can go?" Sherlock asked.

"I'll give you the antidote and I will turn myself in." Billy agreed.

Sherlock took in a deep shaky breath. Emotion was getting the best of him again and there was no fighting it.

"Emmaline was twenty when we found out she was pregnant – too young I thought but she wanted to keep him." Sherlock smiled fondly at the memory. "So she moved in with me and we waited. We went diligently to all the doctor's appointments and even decided against finding out what it was to surprise ourselves."

Billy listened patiently, not saying a word.

"I honestly thought it would be a girl. We were so surprised when he was born, a boy. So happy. One of the few times, I can honestly say I was happy in my life. Emmaline wanted to name him Sherlock – I was dead set against it."

"We named him Jonathon instead because we both liked the name; and we loved being able to call him John." Sherlock looked down as he thought of his best friend. _Part of the reason I cling to you, _he thought to himself.

"He got bigger every day and learned so much and knew us and -" Sherlock's throat became thick and he had to choke back the tears. _Sentiment. _"He was nine months old. He could say 'momma' and 'dadda' and could crawl and stand on his own…a little more time and he might have been walking."

A solitary tear escaped Sherlock's iron clad control and rolled down his cheek. "He just died in the night. No explanation as to why, but it happens sometimes to babies. He just…stopped breathing and no one could do anything."

More tears escaped and Sherlock closed his eyes and let them come, freely rolling. He took in a great heaving gasp, trying to force air into his lungs.

"It's been six years and it's just not the same without him. He was only here for nine goddamn months and I miss him so much it hurts."

Sherlock put his fingers against his lips and slowly began to calm himself again, getting his tears to finally stop falling.

"Is that what you wanted to hear you bastard?" He whispered with such venom that Billy was truly afraid.

"So the great Sherlock Holmes can care about something. Sherlock Homes _is _a human being after all. Not a God."

Billy sat for a moment, away from harm, away from the man. "You can collect me now." He turned the speakers off and patted the antidote in his pocket.

Sherlock composed himself and stood, running a shaky hand through his hair. As he walked back through the door he had come in he felt changed. He had admitted to himself that he was not over his son's death – he could start to move on now.

Stepping out from the dark into the light, it felt like stepping from a tomb into the blinding light of the sun.


	10. Chapter 10: 1-6-10

Chapter 10: 1-6-10

"Sherlock." Emmaline breathed a sigh of relief when he stepped out of the door with the painted 'S'.

"Emmaline." In one-step, he had crossed the hall and encased her in his arms.

She buried her face in his chest and he nestled his into her hair. John stared at them sadly, understanding his friend more deeply than he ever had.

Lestrade came striding down the hall, a glass vial in his hands.

"My men just arrested Billy Zane and got this off of him. It's the antidote – we are starting to administer it now."

John breathed a sigh of relief. Sarah would be all right.

"What happened to you three?" Greg asked, looking between John and the embracing couple.

John pulled the officer over and calmly explained what had happened, and that a man was in desperate need of medical attention in one of these rooms.

Lestrade looked at Sherlock and Emma, then back to John.

"So you know about Jonathon now do you?"

"What, how did you know?" John asked incredulously.

"Emma asked me to be the Godfather." Greg explained simply.

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He would never get used to 221B and the lives of its inhabitants and cohorts, no matter how much he immersed himself in it.

Lestrade gave them each a curt nod before rushing down the stairs and speaking hurriedly into his radio.

"I have to go find Sarah." John told the couple. "I'm glad you are safe, Sherlock."

"I'm glad you're alright John." The younger man told the elder, lifting his head. "You are alright aren't you?"

John smiled and nodded his head before he raced off after Lestrade.

Being alone gave Sherlock the ability to do what he had wanted since seeing Emmaline – which was examine her from head to toe.

"Why do you have a gun, and why are you covered in blood?" He asked quickly, not bothering to deduce anything about the situation. He needed to hear it from her, not allow his brain to guess it.

"I shot him. I killed him Sherlock."

Sherlock looked his wife in the eyes, where fresh tears were making their way down her bloodstained cheeks.

"And he didn't…do anything. He didn't touch me." She reassured.

"You're not just saying that, to make me feel better?"

"No."

Sherlock could see that she was telling the truth. He wrapped her in his arms again and buried his face in the crook of her neck.

"I will never let anything happen to you. Not ever again." He whispered.

"Sherlock what did he want from you?" Emmaline whispered, pulling back from his embrace.

"He wanted to know about Jonathon."

"And what did you say?" She asked carefully.

"What he wanted to hear."

"Come on."

Emmaline grabbed her husband's hand and pulled him down the museum stairs. She handed the gun to an officer and shook her head when he looked about to say something. She continued to walk with Sherlock, guiding him out of the building and down the street.

"Where are we going?" Sherlock asked, seeming to notice for the first time that he was moving.

"Right there." Emmaline pointed her free hand at a small church down the street.

"Emmaline I can't…" Sherlock halted mid-step.

"Can't what? Light a candle for your son?"

Sherlock saw the determination written in her gaze and her steely tone. There would be no arguing with her tonight. So he let himself be dragged into the empty church and up to the front dais where matches and unlit candles waited.

"You don't have to pray Sherlock."

Emmaline lit a match, her hands shaking. Sherlock covered her hand with his and she looked up at him in surprise.

"We should light it together." He whispered.

She nodded and they lit the solitary candle. Emmaline leaned back and pressed her palms together, her head bowed. Sherlock sighed but did the same. He really was not sure what he was supposed to be thinking. He did not believe in a God, or any higher being.

On the other hand, it was comforting to think that someone was watching his son while he could not. _My baby boy…my son. I am so sorry that I could not protect you. I wish…I wish you were still here. _

Emmaline watched as a few tears poured from her husband's eyes. He did not cry so easily, and especially not in front of others. Emma was not sure whether to acknowledge his tears or not. He decided for her.

Sherlock reached a hand out to cover hers and squeezed. Emmaline squeezed back affectionately and helped him up from his knees.

"I want to visit his grave tomorrow." He whispered.

"Okay."

"And I want John to meet him."

Emma held his hand tightly; she knew that a bit of affection was all he really needed right now, though he would never admit to it. Sometimes all he needed was to know that someone was there who cared about him.

"So much sentiment lately." He commented, wiping his wet eyes.

"There is nothing wrong with sentiment Sherlock; it is what makes us human." She reached up to wipe away a stray tear. "And loving a child is nothing to be ashamed about."

"No, it's not." He decided.

Holding hands, and feeling lighter, they walked out of the church and back down the street to the museum.

"Thank you." Sherlock said.

"For what?"

"For loving me."

Emma smiled. "You have said that before."

"And I meant it. I have been awful. But…you stayed."

Emma shook her head. "No you were being Sherlock. And that is who I fell in love with."

"You did not fall in the love with the monster – and that was who I was after Jonathon died."

"Sherlock I fell in love with every part of you - even the hidden parts. Yes I hated you for acting the way you did, but I understood it."

"I was awful and selfish. Sometimes, I forget how you and John have changed me. Sometimes I revert and for that I apologize."

"Don't. That's the man I fell in love with."

They reached the museum in time to see Billy being put in the back of a police car.

"Oh and Sherlock!" He quickly called.

Sherlock and Emmaline turned their heads to see the young man grinning wickedly from ear to ear.

"Moriarty sends his regards." He laughed gleefully as Sherlock paled and turned around.

"Sherlock who is Moriarty?" Emma asked.

"No one. He is no one." Sherlock ushered his wife inside.

Inside he was worried. The consulting criminal had given him quite the respite since the pool nearly a year-and-a-half ago.

_It would seem then, that the Game is on. _

**A/N: My third update today finishes off the book! I do hope you have all enjoyed it, if there are indeed any readers out there. After this I will be writing the prequel but then I'll move back on to 'present day'. I sort of moved the timeline around since according to this fic Series 1 took place in 2009, and Series 2 is about to take place in 2010-11 instead of 2011. **

**Be on the lookout for the prequel, which I hope to have posted soon! **


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